Flying With The Raven
by Herbologist
Summary: When Dumbledore's cursed hand is getting worse, he sends Snape to get help from a St. Mungo's Healer. Though he would never admit it, the talented Ravenclaw soon grows on Snape. But can she break through to his embittered heart? Can she save our beloved Potions master? Canon. Set during HBP/DH
1. Fateful Encounter

**Disclaimer: ****It goes without saying of course, but I do not claim to own any of the Harry Potter characters or their magical universe created by J.K. Rowling. I'm writing this story purely for fun and not for profit.**

**What to expect from this story**

It's frustrating to start reading a story only to realise several chapters later that it's not at all your cup of tea. So here is some information to help you decide if this is what you fancy. You'll find plenty of fantasy fodder to have a pleasant time swooning over the dark Potions Master, a portrayal of Snape that is fully in character, while focusing on his noble side (dark, brooding, acerbic - yes, but more a tragic hero than a bad guy), an adult OC (not a teacher), a plot that is largely a vehicle for the various romantic / sexy situations, but consistent and interesting in its own right, staying meticulously true to canon. There will also be a fair bit of lemons (quite detailed but never vulgar - if you're here only for the smut, you'll find it in chapters 4, 9, 12, 18, 19), a small amount of violence and angst (but not gory), a sprinkle of humour, a happy ending, and significant appearances of other characters, including Dumbledore, Hagrid, Lucius Malfoy, Madam Pomfrey, Narcissa Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, Gilderoy Lockhart, Professors Slughorn, McGonagall and Flitwick. Do you like horses / animals? Then read on!

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Very special thanks to Mark Darcy / Trickie Woo for beta reading!

**Thanks also to semperadreamer, who has done a wonderful job of translating this story into Italian:**http: / www. efpfanfic. net /viewuser. php? uid=44538 (remove spaces)

**I have been drawing FanArt for some chapters of the story. Check it out at **http: / herbologist. deviantart. com /favourites /# Flying-With-The-Raven (remove spaces)

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**1 Fateful Encounter**

Samara Ravenhood sat at her desk in her office at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, writing up some case notes on a patient. The old lady who had sat in the chair opposite her just minutes ago was suffering the effects of a potions accident, which had left her with such badly blurred vision, that she was almost blinded.

The Healer and famous Potions Mistress of St. Mungo's had patiently listened to the elderly witch's story, who had told her about attempting to brew a potion to cure her short-sightedness. She had questioned her about every detail of the ingredients used and the method of preparation. From there she had a very good idea where the potion had gone wrong, and was now writing down instructions for her apprentice potion maker to brew up an antidote.

She had taken the old lady back to the waiting area, where the woman's daughter took care of her. On the way back to her office the receptionist had stopped her.

"Miss Ravenhood, there is a visitor from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry who would like to see you, a certain Professor Snape. He says Albus Dumbledore sent him."

"Oh... Just give me a few minutes to write up my notes, and send him in when I ring the bell."

Samara was intrigued. She had heard of Severus Snape, but never met him in person. The Hogwarts professor was well-known in the potion-making world, a man of such outstanding skill, that one wondered why he had gone into teaching at all, especially as he had a reputation of loathing all but the most talented students.

Samara put away her quill, and slipped the parchment into a folder. Then she rang the little brass bell on her desk, signalling the receptionist that she was ready to receive the next visitor. Moments later, the office door opened and a tall man entered. He was slim, but broad-shouldered and angular, and dressed entirely in black. Samara placed him in his late thirties.

"Miss Ravenhood?" His voice was a deep baritone.

"Yes - please take a seat," Samara said, waving towards the visitor's chair across her desk.

Samara sensed immediately that the professor was an unusually powerful wizard. His presence was imposing, the air around him seemed to be charged with energy, and he portrayed a haughty self-confidence that bordered on arrogance. He stood by the door for a moment, before closing it quietly behind himself. As he strode towards the chair, he fixed the Healer with a penetrating gaze that made her stomach lurch.

He sat down, and leaned back in his chair, folding his long-fingered hands in his lap. He had full, black, shoulder-length hair that was parted in the middle, framing a face of harsh features, with a hooked nose, prominent cheekbones, and strong jaw line. His pale skin tone betrayed a person who received little exposure to sunlight. A disapproving frown was permanently etched into his forehead in the form of deep vertical lines between his eyebrows, making him appear older than he actually was.

His eyes were so black that it was impossible to distinguish the irises from the pupils. Fathomless and stern, they looked Samara over with uncomfortable intensity, yet she held his gaze for a few moments before asking politely, "Professor Snape, can I offer you a cup of tea?"

"No thank you, this is not a social call."

She was taken aback by the coldness with which he refused her friendly offer. Apparently, it wasn't just less than brilliant students he loathed. She wondered whether he objected to people in general or just to her in particular, but decided to ignore his uncalled-for rudeness.

"Very well, I suspected as much. Would you care to explain what brought you here then?" she replied calmly.

He looked at her hesitantly, as if unsure whether it was worth bothering, and his lip curled disdainfully.

"Professor Dumbledore had a little Dark magic accident, involving a cursed ring which he tried on. I have managed to contain the curse to his right hand so far, but we seem to be losing the battle. Professor Dumbledore has unfinished business in this world, so he sent me to enlist your help."

"Which you believe is a waste of time, am I right?"

Her directness seemed to irritate him slightly, and narrowing his eyes, he replied, "Well, what do you suggest?"

Samara laughed. "Professor, I'm a Healer, not a seer. Finding any cure is often a lengthy process of experimentation and research. I will need as much information as possible regarding the accident, not to mention that I must see the patient."

"If you were at all acquainted with the Dark Arts, you would know that truly Dark magic rarely has a cure," he sneered. "I believe this one to be no exception, but maybe you know something that I do not?"

Samara ignored his snide remark and just smiled at him.

"Perhaps. Unless you claim to know everything there is to know about healing potions, it is quite possible. What have you tried so far?"

"Vigor Ignis," Snape replied in a deliberately bored tone.

"Not a bad idea," Samara mused, "and a potion few people would be able to brew satisfactorily. Harnessing the power of phoenix tears, perhaps it is not surprising that, like the phoenix, its effect is rather short-lived."

Snape was scowling. "Do you have anything useful to add?"

"There may be better alternatives than Vigor Ignis, especially for the elderly, but I have to think it through. In any case, as a last resort, there is the possibility of using unicorn blood."

At those words Snape's eyes seemed to light up with sudden interest. "Are you suggesting-"

"I'm not suggesting anything illegal or immoral, Professor. I'm just saying that you are far from having exhausted all avenues, and that should all else fail, the Healers of St. Mungo's have access to powerful restricted substances."

After a long moment of silence, during which he looked at her with a measuring glance, Snape said, "If that's the case, then there may be some benefit in your help."

Samara couldn't believe this; he was making her feel as if she were interviewing for a job. She had not been the one to come asking for help.

"This is a last resort only, when all other avenues have been exhausted. I would be very pleased to help Professor Dumbledore. If you would like to try out some other medicines, you can come here on a Saturday, and we can work together," she suggested, trying to sound cool, but nonetheless hoping he would accept.

"I will consider your offer," he replied.

His arrogance was infuriating. She had volunteered to give up her free time to help him, and he didn't find so much as a single word of thanks or appreciation. Instead, he just gave her a curt nod, got up, and walked out of the room with elastic strides, his long black cloak billowing behind him.

What a saturnine man, Samara thought as she was left alone again. Surely his poor first-year students would be truly terrified of him. But she was not going to be intimidated. In fact, despite his rudeness, she was somewhat intrigued by the Potions Master. She suspected that there was much more to Severus Snape than his unpleasant demeanour. If there was one skill she had developed as a Healer, it was a profound understanding of human nature, and her instincts told her that beneath the rough surface, there was a decent and upright man. But there was also something else, something she could not put her finger on at all, something that made her look forward to next Saturday with much more excitement than a day in the lab would have warranted.

He had given her no indication that he would come back, but Samara very much hoped that he would take her up on her offer to work together, as much out of concern for Dumbledore's health, as out of a desire to meet this fascinating wizard again. He obviously preferred to work alone, something she could sympathise with, but she also suspected that she had aroused his interest.

Her thoughts dwelled on the brief conversation for a little longer, before she cleared her mind and got on with her work. She had no more patients to see today, but instead went through a thick pile of treatment records.

Samara loved her job. She had always had a passion and aptitude for Potions, Herbology, and Spells, right from her first year at Hogwarts. She had been a diligent and eager student, always top of her class. Professor Slughorn doted on her, delightedly awarding points to Ravenclaw for almost every one of her Potions assignments.

Unfortunately, being a bit of a nerd and bookworm had also meant she was always rather lonely at school. Nobody liked to hang out with the teachers' favourite. Now however, as Healer and Potions Mistress at London's famous magical hospital, she was able to live her vocation.

With her talent and intuition she had several times found a cure where others had failed, and had soon made a name for herself. Another aspect of her work was seeing patients, something that still often felt like a challenge to the shy and withdrawn woman. But she did have a calm, compassionate manner, which helped patients feel at ease with her.

As she had no family, and hardly any friends, she didn't mind the often long hours her job required. In fact she spent much of her free time at the hospital, too. She had long ago adopted the habit of coming to work on Saturdays to spend a few hours in the staff library, catching up with recent developments in the field, or experimenting in the lab, trying out ideas for new potions. She relished this time; St. Mungo's was quiet at the weekend, and she was usually the only person in the lab and library.

When she finally got to the bottom of the pile, it was already getting dark outside. Time to go home, she thought. Home for her was far away from London. After her parents' untimely death, she had inherited the Ravenhood family home on the Devonshire coast. Ravencroft was a traditional country manor surrounded by acres of land, magically concealed from the outside world. Her only companions there were Trixie, her faithful house-elf, and two magical horses. This was where she spent her Sundays in complete solitude. Taking her gorgeous black stallion for a ride was the closest she had come to happiness.

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Severus Snape Apparated outside the main gates of Hogwarts. Striding up through the grounds towards the castle, he recalled the curious conversation he had with Dumbledore the day before.

Professor Dumbledore had looked tired and weary, when Snape had entered his office. His blackened hand was lying limp in his lap, and he seemed to even have lost his appetite for sweets, as there was only a glass of water on his desk instead of the usual jug of pumpkin juice and biscuits.

"Severus," the old wizard had said, "I have to ask you a favour."

Severus had sat down opposite the Headmaster, and given him a concerned look, waiting for him to continue.

"My powers are fading, Severus. The potion you brewed has saved me so far, but its effect is declining. I can't complain, as I have my own foolishness to thank for this, but for the sake of our cause, I need more time."

"I am working on it, Albus, but it is not an easy task."

"I know you are doing everything you can, and much more than I could reasonably expect of anyone, but I'm starting to think that perhaps we should get some help on this."

Snape gave an annoyed frown.

"I would like you to travel to London, and pay Miss Ravenhood a visit at St. Mungo's hospital," Dumbledore explained. "She is an extraordinary Potions Mistress and Healer and may well be able to suggest something. She has successfully treated other members of the Order before. She was the one who found an antidote to Nagini's deadly poison last year and saved Arthur Weasley."

Snape was not convinced. "Albus, Miss Ravenhood may be a celebrity in the medical world, but we are dealing with Dark magic here, not boils, bruises and broken bones. It would be far better use of my time to stay here and continue with my research. I really don't need any help."

"Please Severus, try to be open-minded. Samara Ravenhood was one of the greatest Potions talents that Hogwarts has ever turned out, apart from you, of course. She is an intelligent woman, a true Ravenclaw. In any case I think it is time the two of you finally met." There was a slight twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes as he said this.

Snape realised that there was little point arguing with the Headmaster over this. "Fine," he sighed in resignation, and made to get up.

"Ah, one thing you should be aware of," Dumbledore intervened. "Her family was killed by Death Eaters when Samara was only fifteen. She only survived because she was at school at the time. Keep that in mind, won't you?"

Severus glowered at the older wizard, and got up to leave the office without a word. He was not looking forward to this.

"And Severus-"

He turned again and looked back, exasperated. He was losing his patience. What else did Dumbledore want now?

"It does not do to dwell on the past."

Whatever that was supposed to mean? Dumbledore and his mysterious rumblings usually were beyond him.

Now, despite his initial prejudices, the meeting with Ravenhood had been more interesting than he had expected, and the Healer had made a rather favourable impression on him. She was not at all like the other Healers he had met so far, all self-important dim-wits in his eyes. Instead, he felt intrigued to have made the acquaintance of someone he could actually have some sort of professional respect for. He might even be able to tolerate her as a collaborator, and for him, that was saying a lot.

He normally didn't care about people's opinion of him. But for some reason, he felt an unusual desire to impress this woman. Unfortunately, he had probably failed miserably in that respect, doing his best to alienate her, while coming across as a complete idiot, not only ignorant, but arrogant, too. It was a small miracle that she had offered to work with him, a prospect which he now found rather appealing.

He had always assumed himself superior to anyone else in the field of Potions, but her suggestion of using unicorn blood had come as a complete surprise. He was of course aware of its miraculous powers – the darker and less socially acceptable books made no secret of its potential applications – but even he would never go this far into the Dark Arts. It was easy to see, however, that if there was a way of obtaining the blood without hurting the animal, the possibilities would be boundless. He felt embarrassed that he had not thought of this himself, and even more embarrassed about his lack of knowledge in that particular area of healing potions. It was something he would have to read up on.

What irked him further was that she had criticised his choice of potion, even though he had to agree about the shortcomings of the Vigor Ignis draught. Yes, he decided, he would take her up on her offer, but not until he had made some progress himself. And with these thoughts he entered his office and set out to work.

But there was also something else, something about her that had affected him in a way he could not put into words, or even thoughts. From the moment he had entered the room, he had noticed a warm glow about the woman, and she was not unattractive, even though her features were somewhat coarse, with a fairly large nose and prominent chin. Her hair was the colour of rosewood and fell onto her shoulders and back in unruly, entangled strands. Her pale complexion had a peachy hue, suggesting she spent much time outdoors. But then Snape didn't care about women, hadn't felt the least bit interested in the fairer sex for a long time. And so her appearance should have been of little consequence.

The most remarkable thing about her, however, were her eyes. They were deep blue in colour, and had looked at him with such clarity and brightness that he worried she might be able to see right into his soul in a way that had nothing to do with Legilimency. He had seen eyes like that only once before in his life. As much as he wanted to, he would never be able to forget those eyes, and the memory of them gave him a deep, almost painful sense of longing.

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**A/N: Like all authors, I do love to hear your views, it makes publishing this all worth while. And I can take (constructive) criticism.**

**So please, do review generously. I will try not to fish for reviews too much though, as it annoys me too ;-)**


	2. Potions Work

**2 Potions Work**

Almost a fortnight had passed since the Hogwarts Potions Master had turned up at the hospital, and Samara wondered whether she would ever hear from him again. It was Saturday afternoon, when she was in the lab once more, working on her pet project. For several weeks now she had been trying to devise a potion to treat the terrible after-effects caused by the Cruciatus curse.

She had made it her priority after a young woman was brought to the hospital at the end of the summer, with symptoms she had never seen before. It had been a pretty young witch, at most twenty years old. When the girl was brought in, she had been shaking and sweating, and was totally confused and terrified. Samara had examined her carefully, but was unable to find any physical cause, any injury or illness. The girl's eyes had been widened, and filled with such terror that it broke Samara's heart. At a loss as to what to do, she had called one of the older Healers for help, and he had recognized the symptoms.

"It is Cruciatus syndrome, Samara. Someone used the unforgivable torturing spell on this girl. We used to have quite a few cases like this, many years ago, when You-Know-Who was still powerful. And if the rumours are true, and he is back, I expect we will see a lot more of this again. If someone is tortured badly, it can actually result in unhinging the mind. The symptoms are shaking, terror, and confusion, as well as terrible nightmares. There is not much you can do, except wait and hope that, with time, the mind will heal. Young people are often the worst affected. Dreamless Sleep potion together with a strong sedative is the only thing that gives some relief. Some particularly bad cases never recover. I believe that is what happened many years ago to Frank and Alice Longbottom. They have been patients in the Janus Thickey Ward ever since."

Samara looked at the contents of her cauldron. The clear blue liquid had looked promising, until she had added some dove's blood into it, which had caused it to curdle into a stinking purple goo. She would have to discard the mix and start over again. So far, she had no success, and was not even sure what she should be aiming for. She had just put the cauldron into the sink, when suddenly the door to the lab opened, and Snape entered the room without knocking. As on his last visit, he was dressed all in black. The contrast between his pallid complexion and black hair and clothes was stark.

"I hope I am not interrupting? The receptionist told me I would find you here."

His deep voice and powerful presence immediately put a spell on Samara. "Not at all, Professor. I was wondering when you would show up."

"Are you still willing to help with Dumbledore's medicine?"

"Of course. I'm just finished with this potion here anyway."

Snape had walked over to the sink and looked into the cauldron. "Finished indeed," he remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I hope nobody's life depended on this concoction."

Samara blushed.

"It was just an experiment; unfortunately, it didn't work."

If somebody was going to witness her failure, why did it have to be Snape, of all people?

"Anyway, I thought some more about a treatment for Dumbledore and have a few ideas," she went on, keen to change the subject.

"So did I. I assume we can work here in your lab? Since I no longer teach Potions at Hogwarts, I'd rather not encroach too much on my successor in the dungeons."

Samara could feel her jaw drop. "You're not – Why?"

He hesitated. For a moment, she thought he would tell it was none of her business, but then he patiently answered her question.

"Dumbledore asked Horace Slughorn to return and teach Potions, and I took the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor."

"Oh, I'm sorry -"

"Why? First years and potions – you cannot imagine the mess. Defence Against the Darks Arts is a much pleasanter subject."

He looked at her seemingly amused. Samara suspected that the look on her face had not been particularly intelligent. This really wasn't a good start. Why did she feel so self-conscious in his presence?

"So what else have you tried since you came to see me?"

"I attempted to modify the Vigor Ignis potion to make it last longer."

"And did you succeed?"

"Only to a small degree. I obtained the best result by adding a ginkgo leaf, but unfortunately this variation causes Dumbledore headaches."

She opened a drawer and pulled out two pieces of parchment.

"Here are two formulas that would be worth trying. How about if we each pick one to brew?"

Snape studied the parchments in silence, while Samara's gaze was fixed on his face, anxiously looking for any indication of what he thought of her suggestions. One of the formulas was a potion to strengthen the drinker's magical powers, while the other was a life-extending draught.

"I suppose it's worth a try," he finally replied, his voice completely devoid of any emotion. He handed one of the recipes back to her, and she was not at all surprised to see that he had chosen the power-enhancing potion for himself.

"Let's get started then. Clean cauldrons are in the cupboard back there; and we have a comprehensive store of ingredients in the room at the back. I'll go and fetch everything we need. There is a jar of distilled water in the corner. Use that rather than the tap water."

Snape raised one eye-brow, but then obliged, taking two cauldrons from the cupboard, and filling them with water. Samara suspected that he did not like being told what to do. _Well, if you're going to be working in my lab, you better get used to it, _she thought grimly, as she disappeared into the store room.

When she re-emerged with a tray of jars, he had already lit two stoves, and arranged mortar and pestle, chopping boards, and knives on the work bench. She put down the tray, and the two of them set out to work.

While Samara was grinding her owl feathers, she couldn't resist watching Snape furtively. It was impressive to see the skill with which he chopped and crushed herbs, the precise and confident actions of his hands, as he opened and closed jars, the complete concentration with which he worked, bent over his cauldron, his hair flopping into his face, completely absorbed by what he was doing. She couldn't help but notice his hands. They were slender and long-fingered, but strong and masculine at the same time. Despite the little scars and calluses, which told of handling dangerous potions ingredients, and years of working with the tools of his trade, she considered them rather beautiful. Her eyes lingered on an inch of the immaculately starched fabric of his shirt cuff protruding from underneath the sleeves of his black robes, which didn't allow as much as a glimpse of his wrists. She caught herself wondering what they would look like. Berating herself for entertaining such bizarre thoughts, she forced herself to focus on her own work again.

For a long time, neither of them spoke a word, and the only sounds in the room where the scraping of wood against the metal of the heavy pewter cauldrons, and the tap dance of the knives on the chopping boards.

When all the ingredients had been added, and the potions were bubbling quietly, Snape looked up from his cauldron. Suddenly, Samara found herself caught in the deep black tunnels of his eyes. Their intense gaze made her feel exquisitely uncomfortable. She could feel her pulse quicken as adrenaline was released into her bloodstream. Yet, when he looked away again, she felt almost bereft.

"This has to simmer for at least twenty-four hours now to give a good strength," he said, while he was busy clearing away his tools. "May I leave it to you to top up the water, and make sure it continues to boil?"

"Sure. How about if I bring bottles of the two finished potions to Hogwarts next week, and we get Dumbledore to try them? It would also be helpful if I could take a look at his injured hand."

Snape nodded. "Thursday. I believe Dumbledore will be available then. Ten o'clock in his office. I will notify you should plans change. But now I believe I have imposed on your time long enough. Goodbye, Miss Ravenhood."

And before Samara could have offered him a cup of tea, he left as suddenly as he had appeared.

Samara had gone to St. Mungo's on Sunday to check on the potions, topping up the water and checking that the heat was not too strong. Luckily, the fireplace in the sitting room at Ravencroft was connected to the Floo Network, so that she could travel between her office and her home easily. On Monday morning, she had taken the potions off the fire and left them to cool. Both potions had turned out perfectly, but she would have expected no less from Snape.

Now they stood bottled up on her desk. On Thursday morning she packed them into her bag, grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the little bowl on the mantelpiece, and shouting "Ravenclaw Tower", stepped into the fire.

Moments later, she twirled out of the large fireplace in the Ravenclaw common room, brushing ash and soot from her cloak as she straightened herself and took a look around. It had been so many years since she had last stood in this room. At this time of day, it was completely deserted, as the students were all in class, but it had not changed at all since Samara's school days.

She would never have dared to floo directly into Dumbledore's office, and the common room had been the first suitable place in the castle that had sprung to mind. She left, quietly closing the door behind her, before climbing down the long winding staircase of the tower, and making her way across to the Headmaster's office.

Once she got there, standing in front of the ugly stone gargoyle, she realised that she could not get through without the password, and tentatively knocked the statue on the chest.

"Samara Ravenhood, coming to see Professor Dumbledore."

As she stood there waiting in the corridor, she spotted a silver-haired man with a big moustache bumbling along and slowly approaching. She recognised him immediately, but he seemed too absorbed in his thoughts to notice her.

"Professor Slughorn, how are you doing?"

He looked up blankly at first, but then his gooseberry eyes lit up as he recognised her. "Miss Ravenhood! It has been a long time! Is it still Miss Ravenhood?"

"Yes, it is."

"What a nice surprise to see you! I heard you've had a very successful career at St. Mungo's. Although I still think you would have done better to work for the Ministry."

"I do love my work though."

"And that is all that matters, of course! Thankfully, I have enjoyed reasonably good health so far, but I would not hesitate to come and see you, should the need arise."

"Of course, Professor. Although I do hope you will not have any reason to do so."

"Listen, I am hosting a little Christmas party before the holidays, Hogwarts staff and a selected group of students – you see the Slug Club is still alive. It would be marvellous if you could join us, famous alumna that you are. How would you like to come along?"

"I would love to."

"Excellent, I will get an invitation owled out to you. But I think Professor Dumbledore expects you. You better go up." He pointed at the gargoyle, which had moved aside, revealing the spiralling staircase behind.

When Samara entered the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore was sat in a high-backed armchair in the corner. Snape stood beside him, arms crossed. Dumbledore seemed tired, and aged by decades since she had last seen him; however his eyes still twinkled cheerfully.

"Thank you for coming here, Miss Ravenhood, we have been awaiting you eagerly," he said with a benevolent smile.

Samara unpacked the two bottles from her bag, and set them down on the small round table next to Dumbledore's chair.

"Professor, before you try these potions, may I have a look at your hand?"

Dumbledore pulled up the sleeve of his robe, and held out his injured hand.

"Do you have any pain?" she asked.

"Not at all, it is completely insensitive," he answered, looking at his own hand with detached curiosity, as if it were some unusual artefact.

She ran her hands around the extended limb, carefully palpating every inch. Dumbledore's hand felt cold. The skin was blackened, looking almost burnt, and the fingers were gnarled like dead wood. She could not feel a pulse on his wrist at all. When she felt for his brachial pulse higher up, it was slow and not very strong – not a good sign.

"I'm sorry, Professor, I don't think it will be possible to heal this injury, it would be like trying to awaken the dead. All we can hope for is to stop it from spreading."

"Oh, of course, I'm not expecting you to heal it. See, I still have one good hand, and my brains. That is all I need," he said with a smile.

Then Snape conjured a goblet, and Dumbledore tried the potions. The effect of the first one, the potion designed to strengthen a wizard's magical energy, was only weak. Samara supposed that Dumbledore was already an extremely powerful wizard, and that there probably was little scope for improvement. But when she said so, Snape just dismissed her concerns. She sighed inwardly. Why was it that so many wizards seemed obsessed with the idea of increasing one's power? She had treated countless cases were such attempts had gone wrong, and the patients were almost always male. In her experience, precision and subtlety in magic usually yielded much better results than sheer power.

Samara's life-extending potion proved to be slightly more effective, although it caused the Headmaster palpitations. She was confident however, that it would be possible to reduce the side effects of the potion, and considered this the more promising route of action. Snape disagreed, arguing that it was usually far easier to increase the strength of a formula than to alter the nature of its effect. Dumbledore watched their bickering with an amused smile, as if it didn't concern him at all. In the end they agreed that it was worth pursuing both options.

Before Samara left, Snape took her aside to have a quiet word.

"What about the unicorn blood?"

"His condition is very serious, but I think it would be worth to refine these potions further. If that fails, we will consider the unicorn blood."

Snape didn't seem satisfied with her answer.

"We are dealing with Dark magic of the worst kind here. No ordinary potion can give more than temporary relief. I don't want to waste any time."

Samara was well used to this type of argument. Most patients thought that their condition required the most powerful and expensive medicine, when ninety-nine percent of the time a fairly simple potion could cure their ailments. She had learned to stay her ground, however. In fact, during all her years at St. Mungo's, she had only once had reason to resort to unicorn blood. The other time she had used it, it had been wholly unnecessary, but the patient had turned out to be a close relative of the Minister, and it had been made clear to her that she would be fired if she didn't produce the requested potion. So begrudgingly, she had complied, all the while bemoaning the waste of such a valuable resource.

"It's not as simple as that," she replied. "To prepare a medicine from unicorn blood is a lengthy process. So we need these potions in the meantime. I will also need to submit an application to the Ministry; and to justify its use I need to show that everything else has been tried."

Seeing the questioning look on Snape's face, Samara continued to explain, "Ethically sourced unicorn blood is gained from the placenta, the afterbirth, and is extremely scarce. The Department for Magical Maladies keeps a small supply, but restricts its use to only those patients with a life-threatening condition, that doesn't respond to any other form of treatment. Even if my application is successful, we will only be able to get a very small amount of blood, a small vial at most. Have you ever used unicorn blood?"

Snape shook his head.

"Well, unless you slaughter a unicorn to obtain a large quantity of blood – and I'm sure you know the implications - the blood needs to be added to a potion to stretch it, and enhance its effectiveness. It is a very complex potion to make, and takes three full moons to prepare. I have only done this a couple of times before and would appreciate your help; we can't afford any mistakes."

Snape gave her a brief nod of agreement.

"Then come to St. Mungo's tomorrow evening; we have no time to waste."

He nodded again, his face completely unreadable.

She waved goodbye to Dumbledore, and, with a sprinkle of Floo powder, disappeared back to her own office.

* * *

Over the next weeks, Snape and Samara worked together at St. Mungo's several evenings a week, trying to alter the ingredients of the two potions slightly, in order to get them to work better. They usually disagreed strongly on the best course of actions, so invariably ended up each brewing their own potion. But this was not an ineffective way to work.

While the potions simmered, Snape actually accepted a cup of tea. Initially the wait was awkward, and Samara had found it hard to break the ice. The Potions Master would not take part in conversation, and preferred to just stand there in silence and stare into the cauldrons. On the third evening however, Samara had started to tell him about cases she had seen at work during the day, and asked his opinion on some formulas. This had been something that aroused his interest and got the conversation going. Soon they were discussing new developments in potion making, and the best places to procure ingredients, and the time seemed to fly.

Then one evening, Samara waited for Snape in vain. When it was half an hour past the appointed time, she eventually got on with the potions alone. Samara's disappointment grew, when he didn't show up the next evening either. She couldn't imagine what would keep him away.

On the third evening she had resigned herself to working alone, lit the fire under her stove, and made herself a cup of tea in her office, while the water heated up.

Then suddenly the door opened and Snape entered.

"I'm sorry to be late."

He didn't look well, his face was gaunt and even paler than usual, and his eyes appeared sunken, tired, and weary. He looked as if he had not slept for days, and his long hair was grimy and unkempt. Samara was concerned.

"Professor, where have you been? You don't look well. Sit down; let me get you a drink."

While Snape took a seat in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace, Samara went into her little kitchen. He would need something stronger than tea this time, she thought, and started to brew her mother's special recipe, a perfect drink anytime someone needed a pick-me-up, an infusion of ginseng root, ginger, lemon, and lavender honey. She returned to the office with a mug of steaming liquid and handed it to Snape. He took a sip, and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Hm, this is tolerable, I suppose."

As always, Samara was enthralled by the sound of his deep velvety voice. She crouched down in front of him, looking up into his eyes.

"Are you okay? What happened? Why did you not show up the last two days?"

"I had other commitments."

She moved to rest one hand on his knee, but his eyes shot her a forbidding look, and she quickly withdrew her hand.

"You look like you've been to hell and back."

"I'm fine." There was a finality in his voice that allowed no further questions.

Samara sighed inwardly, she had to accept that, whatever 'commitments' had taken such a toll on him, he wasn't going to talk about it. She got up and returned to her cauldron.

This would not be the last time Snape remained absent, and every time he would look exhausted and run-down when he finally returned. He refused to speak about what he had been up to, and Samara stopped asking.

The breakthrough finally came at the end of the third week. On that evening, as Samara waited impatiently for Snape to arrive, she recalled the discussion they had the day before. Snape had wanted to work on the power-enhancing potion, and try to make it stronger by replacing scorpion tails with acromantula poison. Samara, on the other hand, was still convinced they should stick with the life-extending potion, and work to eliminate the side-effects.

"I think we should use _Convallaria_ instead of _Digitalis_. It is a lot gentler, and Dumbledore's pulse was a little weak," Samara explained.

"Then you shouldn't mess with _Convallaria_," he scoffed.

"I've had good experience with this," she defended herself. "You, on the other hand, seem to think that just using expensive ingredients will fix anything. Besides, we haven't got acromantula poison."

"Let that be my concern, I will be able to obtain some. Acromantula can be relied on to produce a very powerful potion every time."

"Powerful it may be, but I find it useless for healing applications."

Again they had agreed to disagree, and each decided to pursue their own idea.

Her instincts told her that the Lily-of-the-Valley was the way to go, and she couldn't wait to try it out. She had already set up two cauldrons of water, and laid out all the ingredients, when the door finally opened and Snape entered.

"Good evening, Miss Ravenhood."

"Good evening, Professor. I trust you have the acromantula poison?"

His eyes fell onto the set-up on Samara's work bench. "I do. I see you have prepared everything."

He lit his stove with a flick of his wand, took a little vial of liquid from his pocket, and set it on the bench.

"Where did you manage to get it?" Samara enquired.

"The Hogwarts gamekeeper and Professor for the Care of Magical Creatures is rather friendly with spiders."

The two worked in silence, chopping and grinding their potions ingredients, stirring and simmering, until the last ingredient had been added, and Snape extinguished the fire under his cauldron. He took a ladle to fill a little of his finished potion into a goblet. Upon trying a small sip, a satisfied smirk spread over his features.

"Hm, this is very good indeed. You should try it. It will dispel any misgivings you may still have regarding the use of acrumantula," he said with undisguised smugness in his voice.

Samara accepted the goblet he extended her, taking an uncertain look at the dark liquid inside, which was giving off a rather unpleasant smell. Holding her breath, she took a very small sip. As soon as she had swallowed the pungent potion, she felt like her hair was standing up and her eyes wanted to pop out of their sockets. She started coughing violently, which resulted in her spilling the remaining content of the potion on the floor. She reached for her wand to clean up the mess, but as soon as her hand closed around the shaft, a burst of flames erupted from the tip. Appalled, she quickly dropped it, before she ended up setting the building on fire.

"Merlin!" she cried, "Strong it may be, but not in a good way. You can't give this to Dumbledore. It might finish him off in his fragile state of health."

Snape seemed annoyed at her criticism.

"Nonsense. It may not be for the faint-hearted," he retorted with a pointed look at her, "but the old man is tougher than you give him credit for. You should see him finish an entire jar of Fizzing Whizz-Bees over the course of a single staff meeting."

He peered into her cauldron critically, and she knew he was eager to find any fault with her potion.

"Well, let's see what you have produced then," he said with a challenging undertone.

She wondered why it always seemed like there was a competition going on between them, when they were both working towards the same goal, and it really didn't matter whose potion would be the one to save Dumbledore, as long as he was saved. She filled a goblet with her own potion and tried it. If there was anything wrong with it, she preferred to be the one to say so. But there was nothing wrong at all.

"It's perfect! Absolutely perfect!" she cried out, feeling elated.

She had to restrain herself from jumping up and down excitedly. This was the best potion she had brewed in a long time. With a beaming smile on her face, she handed Snape the goblet. He downed the content, and then raised a mocking eye-brow.

"Is there anything in it? It tastes like water, and I feel absolutely nothing."

"Well, that's the point! It has no side-effects, not even an unpleasant taste, perfect for a potion that needs to be taken every day. And what exactly were you expecting to feel with a life-extending potion?"

"Then how do you know it that has any effect? Or are you suggesting we wait a few hundred years..."

"No," she countered, a bit in a huff, "but when you give it to someone who is about to die, you will be able to tell the difference."

"Pah," he scoffed, "I believe this sort of thing is called the placebo effect."

Samara bit back a snappish retort. She was neither going to let him taunt her like that, nor was there any point in provoking an argument. So instead she decided to change the subject.

"You'll just have to see for yourself. Anyway, I think we have exhausted this avenue and it's time to move on now."

On this point, Snape agreed, and so, as the Christmas holidays moved closer, they started to do research into other potions that could help Dumbledore. Snape brought a different stack of books with him every time, while Samara worked her way through St. Mungo's library. They sat quietly reading in Samara's office in front of the fireplace, occasionally sharing an interesting piece of information they had come across, or discussing the merits of a potions recipe. Occasionally, when they had found a promising formula, they made it up in the lab.

The competitive spirit between them continued, however, as did their differences in opinion and approach. Snape would never stick to a recipe, always adding his own touches and variations. Samara, on the other hand, felt they should follow the instructions to the smallest detail, at least for the first time they tried something. She was often annoyed by the liberties he took with the recipes, even though she had to admit that he often got the better result.

In any case, for Samara, the evenings with Snape had become the best part of her life, one she actively looked forward to. It was stimulating to work with someone so competent, exhilarating to bounce off ideas with a man of such outstanding intellect. And rarely had she met someone who shared her passion for Potions, that discipline of endless possibilities.

To most people, potion-making just meant taking a book, and following a recipe to the last boring detail. But those traditional formulas were just the result of what generations of wizards and witches had discovered and written down. There were infinite ways in which ingredients could be combined, probably hundreds of formulas to create a desired effect. But to find even one took far more than a thorough knowledge of the ingredients and their magical properties, far more than patience or blind experimentation. What really distinguished a great Potions Master was that elusive inspiration, the intuition that told you which herbs would form a synergy, which ingredients had an affinity to a certain trait, not to mention the different ways in which the potions had to be stirred, boiled, rested, shaken, the influence of moon cycles, and even the seasons.

If Samara was honest with herself, however, she was drawn to the darkly brooding professor for more than academic reasons alone. She found him increasingly attractive, and often caught herself secretly watching him as he sat reading, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the fire, shadows dancing across his harsh but noble features, framed by a mass of long, black hair. When he looked at her with his intense, black eyes, she felt something tighten in her stomach, and her heart skipped a beat. And then there were those elegant, nimble hands. She wondered what they would be able to do to a woman. But Snape did not appear to reciprocate these feelings. In fact, he seemed careful to avoid all physical contact between them. Nevertheless, Samara liked to imagine that underneath the cover of dourness, sarcasm, and his cool, formal demeanour was a man who could love passionately.

Yet, his allure seemed to be lost on other women. One day the receptionist pulled her aside during the department's coffee break.

"Samara," the mousy-looking woman with big glasses warned her, "I really don't think a pretty young witch like you should be hanging out with this creepy man alone in the evenings. They say he was a Death Eater before he went to teach at Hogwarts."

Now that was just ridiculous. Yes, no doubt, Snape could be intimidating, even rude, Samara thought, but a Death Eater – no way!

"I don't think he would be Potions Master at Hogwarts if he was a Death Eater, Myopina! Dumbledore obviously thinks very highly of him. We are working on something important together, and I can assure you he has been a perfect gentleman."

But Myopina was not convinced.

"I don't like him. He never says a friendly word, just gives me an evil look, and walks right past me. What an unpleasant person; he makes my skin crawl!"

Samara smiled when she recalled the conversation. In any case she very much enjoyed the company of this enigmatic man. And if his presence sent tingles down her spine, it was for an entirely different reason.

Nevertheless, she decided to give Snape a key for the staff entrance, a flooded public toilet with an 'Out of Order' sign at the door. That way he wouldn't have to come through the visitor's entrance, arousing Myopina's curiosity and suspicion.


	3. Playing With Fire

Then came the day of the Slug Party. Samara had been looking forward to this with almost childish anticipation. She was sure that Snape would be there, and it was a great opportunity to see him in a context that was not about work. Her main concern was to look as beautiful as possible, in the hope that he would notice, and see her as a woman, not just a colleague. She had deliberated for ages on what to wear, and in the end chosen a simple, but flattering dress, made from silver-grey silk with crystal-encrusted snowflakes embroidered around the waist. Wearing her long hair down, and high-heeled silver sandals, she was very pleased with her reflection in the mirror. She didn't want to ruin her dress by using the Floo, so instead decided to Apparate just outside Hogwarts' main gate. It was the ugly form of Filch, the caretaker, who greeted her, and, after suspiciously inspecting her invitation card, escorted her up through the grounds, and to Professor Slughorn's quarters. The decorations at the party were breath-taking, with real snowflakes suspended in mid air, a massive Christmas tree rivalling the one in the Great Hall, and candles everywhere. Samara took a look around the crowd of merry-faced young people, but could not see Snape anywhere. A little disappointed, she walked over to where Poppy Pomfrey and Minerva McGonagall were standing, immersed in conversation. Poppy was, of course, delighted to see her.

"Samara dear, Horace told me you would be here. You really should come visit more often. Minerva, do you remember Samara Ravenhood? She is my dear godchild. Her mother was a very good friend of mine, an amazing woman, such a terrible loss; she is sorely missed."

"Oh, Miss Ravenhood, I remember you well; you were a talented student. How do you do?"

Samara stood chatting with the two ladies, until it was time to sit down for dinner. It was then, that she discovered Snape, sitting across from her at the table, talking to Dumbledore. She had not noticed him arrive. Samara had been seated between Poppy and Professor Flitwick. Over dinner, she enjoyed a pleasant conversation with her old Head of House, which was just as well, because, apart from a brief nodded greeting when their eyes met across the table, Snape was ignoring her throughout the meal. He spent the whole time talking to McGonagall and Dumbledore either side of him, or just glowering to himself.

After dinner, Poppy had to rush off to take a student, who had overindulged on the wine, to the hospital wing, and Samara joined the other teachers, who were standing in a group around Professor Slughorn. Slughorn raised his glass, and started tapping it with his wand until the room fell silent, waiting for the host to address his guests.

"My dear friends, it is a great joy to see you all assembled here tonight. I do hope you are enjoying yourselves, and do not want to keep you from doing so for long. It is, however, my pleasure to ask you all to join into a great Hogwarts tradition, the Hogwarts Waltz! Filius, if you would be so kind."

Professor Flitwick smiled graciously and obliged. At a flick of his wand, the tables vanished; and, under the applause of everyone in the room, he proceeded to show off one of his most impressive spells, directing an orchestra of instruments that had appeared in a corner of the room. As the Hogwarts Waltz resounded, students and teachers joined in.

Slughorn took Professor Sprout by the hand, and led her off to the dance floor.

Dumbledore turned to McGonagall. "Minerva, would you do me the honour?" and winking to Samara, excused himself.

Now Samara was left alone with Snape, who scowled, and didn't make a move. But Samara was determined not to let this opportunity slip; this was the moment she had been waiting for all evening.

"Oh, Professor, I would love to dance, wouldn't you?"

"No, I would not," he replied with a baleful look.

"Oh please, just this one dance. It would be the nicest Christmas present for me."

"What makes you think you are getting one?" he snorted sarcastically.

"Oh, let me think. How about letting you use my lab and potions ingredients?" Samara suggested with an impish smile.

He let out a resigned breath. "Very well. I can't argue with that. Follow me then."

He turned and walked towards the door. Samara followed behind.

"Where are we going?" she protested.

"Out to the corridor."

"Why?"

"I will not allow my students to witness this."

Samara's insides tingled with excitement, as she walked behind him. She watched him weave through the crowd, admiring the elasticity and strength with which he moved, the strands of black hair bouncing onto the black fabric of his coat.

Out in the hallway, he made a movement with his wand, and the music from inside the room was magically amplified and carried outside. He held out his arms in formal dancing posture.

"What are you waiting for?"

Samara moved closer, and placed her hand in his, while he put his right on her shoulder blade and drew her into him. She almost gasped; never had she been this close to him. Her heart accelerated, as she breathed in his scent, and felt the heat emanating from his body. Yet what followed far exceeded her wildest expectations. He led her securely in the frame of his arms, moving to the beat with ground-covering steps. Holding himself in perfect balance, he was striding and spinning across the corridor with confident and elegant manoeuvres. She savoured the sensation of his hand firm against her back, her abdomen against his, his leg moving between hers, occasionally brushing against her thigh, his face inches from hers, his black eyes holding her captive.

"You dance remarkably well for someone who does not enjoy it," she complimented him.

"Slughorn made us learn for the Yule ball, when I was in my fifth year at Hogwarts."

"You must have practiced a lot."

"In fact, I did. There was a girl I wanted to impress. Unfortunately, she went to the ball with someone else."

He smirked. His tone was casual and light-hearted, but a pained expression in his eyes betrayed him, and made Samara think that this had been more than just teenage infatuation. However, she was wiser than to dig deeper with questions.

"Then I'm grateful to her, because I am enjoying this a great deal."

"You are welcome."

Samara didn't want the music to stop. She wished she could float along in his arms, weightless, until the early hours. But, inevitably, the last notes eventually faded, and they came to stop just under the architrave of a doorway. When she glanced up, she couldn't believe her luck: Mistletoe! She looked at Snape expectantly, but his eyes were suddenly fathomless and cold.

"Please excuse me."

He quickly let go of her, turned away and headed back inside.

Samara stood alone outside for a moment. She brought her hand up to her face, the hand that had until a moment ago rested in his, and indulged in the recollection of what had just happened. She could feel something fluttering in her stomach. Yes, she was in love with Severus Snape. And now that she knew that he, too, had been in love at least once before, she was determined to conquer his heart.

Back at the party, Snape seemed to avoid her for the rest of the evening, and she was too embarrassed to seek him out. So she decided to head home early, and took her leave from Slughorn and Flitwick.

Back at Ravencroft, lying in her bed, she closed her eyes, and once more danced with Snape, this time until sleep finally wrapped her in its silent embrace.

***

Over the Christmas holidays, Samara decided they had invested enough effort into finding an alternative cure, and that it was time to start on the potion to which the unicorn blood would eventually be added. They had found a number of slightly different recipes from various sources, and, in the end, decided it would be wise to prepare more than one potion, just in case. New Year's Eve was also full moon, and for the start of a new endeavour, the timing could not be better. So while most people enjoyed the festivities, Samara and Snape were once more locked up in the lab, chopping, grinding, and stirring.

When they were done with the first stage and cleaning up the equipment, Samara suddenly realized that, until the second stage of preparation at the next moon cycle, there would be no need for them to see each other. It was not a happy thought, and she wished she could think of a reason to prolong his stay or arrange another meeting. Meanwhile, Snape had taken a look at a cauldron standing on another work bench in the lab, surrounded by jars and bottles of ingredients.

"What are you working on there?" he asked casually.

"Oh, that's just a little experiment, nothing major," Samara replied evasively, still remembering the scorn she had earned for her last unsuccessful attempt.

But Snape's curiosity had been roused. "Experiment on what?"

"I'm trying to brew something that will treat Cruciatus syndrome. We had a bad case a while ago."

"The Cruciatus - how interesting…" His eyes widened. "Quite a challenging project, I daresay. So what is in this?" He bent over the cauldron and sniffed.

"I thought I'd try a variation of a painkilling potion, adding some ingredients that are used for the Obliviatus Azuris."

"Painkilling potion against the Cruciatus curse? That's the silliest thing I have heard in a while, and believe me, I have to endure a lot from my students," he sneered.

Samara's face went bright red. "Why? What's so silly about that?" she snapped.

"Miss Ravenhood, do you know anything about the Cruciatus curse at all? Do you know how it is produced, how it works?"

"No, why should I?" she replied defiantly.

"Because you cannot fight the Dark Arts without understanding them first!"

He had walked back towards her, his expression fierce, and his gaze piercing her uncomfortably.

"Not everyone shares your unhealthy infatuation with the Dark Arts!" Samara replied mutinous.

Snape's eyes flashed warningly, daring her to continue, but he said nothing. Samara was angry. He had no right to criticise her like that; she was not one of his students. Yet she knew he was right, she was a long way off.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," she apologized.

"Never mind." His tone was conciliatory now. "Why don't you let me help you with this? I may be able to fill the gaps in your knowledge."

"Really, you would do that?" Her face lit up.

"Why not? As you say, I am fascinated with the subject. You may come to my office next Saturday evening. Security at Hogwarts is heightened these days, but I give you permission to floo into my office."

***

A week later, Samara stepped out of the fireplace in Snape's office. Snape was sitting at his desk in front of a pile of parchments, no doubt essays that he was marking. He looked up briefly, and, with a movement of his hand, indicated her to sit down in a chair opposite his desk. Then, without a word, he turned back to the parchment he was reading.

While she was waiting, Samara took a look around. The room was quite dark, with only a single small window. The walls were lined with books. She suspected that the chair she was sitting on was usually reserved for students spending their detention with Snape.

After a few minutes, Snape put down the parchment, sighed, considered it for a few moments, and scribbled something at the bottom, before adding it to a different pile on his desk. Then he looked up again and moved the parchments aside.

"Can I get you anything? Tea? Firewhisky?"

Samara shook her head. "No, thank you."

"Now, the Cruciatus curse. What do you know about it?" he asked, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest.

"It's one of three Unforgiveable curses, and it is used to cause unbearable pain, to torture people."

Now Samara did feel like a student in detention.

"Pain, yes, but it is not like the pain you feel in response to bodily injury. It is a pain that exists purely in the mind. Do you understand now why a painkilling potion will do nothing?"

Samara nodded. "Because analgesics stop pain being relayed from the body to the brain, whereas the Cruciatus pain exists only in the mind?"

"That's correct. I take it you have never been subjected to it?"

She shook her head. "Have you?"

"More times than I care to remember."

Samara's eyes widened. Was that what those mysterious commitments were? Some secret and dangerous mission, fighting Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and where he got tortured? Her respect for Snape had just doubled.

"What does it feel like?" she asked hesitantly.

"Searing pain, like burning alive. However, as with the Imperius curse, for someone strong enough, it is possible to resist."

"Really? How?" she asked, her eyes full of awe.

"Occlumency, the art of defence against manipulation of the mind. The Cruciatus curse after all is a form of manipulation."

"How do you do it?"

"The fundamental technique of Occlumency is to create a safe area in your mind. It is like creating a barrier, a wall, shielding that to which you do not want to allow access. It takes practice of course, concentration, will power, and self-discipline. In the case of the Cruciatus curse, you put a barrier between your self, your feelings, and the pain."

"And what about Cruciatus syndrome? If it is just pain, why does it affect people so much?"

"Nobody really knows. All I can offer you is a theory."

"Please."

"Miss Ravenhood, do you remember your mother?"

"Of course I do."

"Do you remember how she nursed you, cuddled you, cradled you when you were a small baby?"

"Of course not; I was too young too remember."

"Strange, isn't it, that we don't remember? And yet, those memories, buried deep in our subconscious, are at the very foundation of who we are, they are what allows us to trust, hope, and love."

"And what does this have to do with the Cruciatus curse?"

"Do you know how the Cruciatus curse is produced?"

She shook her head.

"But of course, you wouldn't," he scoffed. "The caster of the Cruciatus needs to project a feeling of pure hatred, malice, and spite. It is thus that the effect is so damaging to the soul, because the curse antagonises what is best in us. Why do you think the Death Eaters relish the Cruciatus curse so much?"

"Because they are evil of course…"

"Evil, yes, but subconsciously, I think it is envy."

"Envy?" Samara's expression was doubtful.

"Yes, envy. Because they seek to destroy what they do not have," he explained.

Samara looked at him incredulously.

"Mother love, Miss Ravenhood. It is the most fundamental and primal of all feelings, the strongest and most unconditional love of all. Lord Voldemort never knew his mother, never received this love. It explains, but doesn't excuse of course, how a human being could turn into such a monster. If you can brew a potion that embodies it, I believe you will indeed vanquish this most abominable curse."

"To create mother love in a potion…How on earth would you do that?"

"As to that, I have not the faintest idea. But maybe it takes a woman's brain to work that out. It is a challenging task indeed, worthy, but challenging. Unfortunately, I think this is all the help I can give you at the moment."

"Thank you. This has been most enlightening."

Samara hoped that he would let her stay a little longer, wishing that he might extend his offer of tea, which she now was quite willing to accept. But Snape, with an air of impatience, had turned back to his pile of parchments.

"Now, I have work to do. I will see you at the full moon to complete the second stage of those potions."

So Samara took her leave and turned back to the fireplace.

* * *

**A/N:** There is a fanart for this chapter at http: //herbologist. deviantart. com/art/The-Yule-Ball-143629233 (take out spaces)


	4. Ghosts Of The Past

**A/N:** This chapter is a little diversion looking at Snape's past. Don't worry, we'll be back to the main plot in the next chapter.

I do hope you enjoy this nonetheless, and am dying to hear what you think about this chapter! Please do review!

* * *

Severus Snape had returned to his house in Spinners End for the week-end. He rarely spent time here, it never really felt like home, but this Saturday he had felt the need to retreat from Hogwarts to spend a few hours in silent reflection. There was a restlessness, a disquiet, nagging at him, and he did not know how to quell it. He did, of course, know the cause of it.

Samara Ravenhood had grown on him more than he could initially admit to himself. For some time, the evenings spent in her company at St. Mungo's had been something he looked forward to during the endless hours of classes. And now that he had not seen her for two weeks, it left a void that made the rest of his life feel even more desolate than usual. Was it possible that he actually missed her? Him, the man who had always regarded the company of other people as some form of torture

But this woman was different. Not only was she smart, talented, and knowledgeable, she had such a positive attitude, despite her troubled past, such a thirst for life, an almost naïve determination to fight for the good - to his embittered and disappointed heart, she was as refreshing as a morning breeze. She was attractive, too. He closed his eyes, and tried to visualise her face, her smile, those sparkling blue eyes, and the soft, rosy lips. What would it feel like to kiss them? The realisation that he desired her dismayed him. How on earth could he have slipped to allow himself to entertain such highly inappropriate thoughts?

No doubt, it was that damned dance at Slughorn's party. The only reason he had given into it in the first place, was because for once he had wanted to be a little civil, because he didn't know how to refuse her without being unduly rude, something he felt she didn't deserve. How could he have known that it would affect him like that? After all, he never had danced with a woman before.

Allright, he had spent days, weeks, practicing, determined to ask Lily to the ball and out-do Potter on the dance floor, to thwart his efforts to take her away from him. And as with anything to which he put his mind, he had striven for perfection. But by the time he had found the confidence to ask her, Potter had beaten him to it. Maybe she still would have danced with him, but seeing her waltzing with that twit, smiling at him, had sickened him so much he had left the ball, and spent the rest of the evening sulking alone in the Slytherin common room.

So how was he to know how sexy it felt, their bodies being separated by only a few layers of fabric? And that it was impossible to avoid brushing with his thigh against hers? It was incomprehensible to him how women seemed to enjoy dancing for the sake of it. Surely, to her, it had been no more than a pleasant social pastime, completely unaware as to the primal, predatory instincts she aroused in him. It had been such a long time since he had last held a woman in his arms, so warm, so soft. Something was starting to swell between his legs. No! He was determined to quench those feelings, and banish them from his mind. Apart from the fact that he would only earn himself rejection and ridicule, it would be highly irresponsible to even dream about her.

Would things have been any different, if he had met her before, before he made the Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa? At the time it had seemed irrelevant, but now it was effectively a death sentence on him, for there was no doubt that he would have to break it. No matter what Dumbledore wanted him to do, he would not kill him, not now that they were so close to finishing the potion, and it would no longer be an act of mercy but murder. In fact, he would do everything to stop Draco. What sort of death would it be, to break an Unbreakable Vow? Would it be as quick and painless as _Avada Kedavra_? For a moment, he was tempted to browse through his Dark magic books to find an answer to that question, but then he thought it was better not to know.

Should he have refused to make the vow? It would have been awkward in the presence of Bellatrix, and would have confirmed her mistrust of him. It would have weakened his position, and made it much harder to get access to the Dark Lord's inner circle. And back then, he had not promised anything more than what Dumbledore had already asked of him. But Severus knew this was not the whole reason. Narcissa – it was not the first time she had turned to him for help.

His thoughts wandered back to that evening many years ago, when he had been a young man, barely out of school. It must have been about a year after his mother died. He would never forget the date, because it had been the week after Lily married James Potter. He had come across the wedding notice in the Daily Prophet, which was not a surprise of course. But to see his greatest dread confirmed in black and white was still enough to plunge him into a very foul mood, a mixture of resignation, desperation, and anger. He had been sitting on this same threadbare sofa, brooding, just like now, staring into the flames in the fireplace, which were the only source of light in the dark sitting room.

Then suddenly there had been a knock on the door. He had been surprised. No-one ever came to see him. Hardly anyone even knew where he lived. He had been debating whether to go and open the door, but eventually curiosity had got the better of him. He had been even more surprised to find Narcissa Malfoy standing outside, her delicate figure robed in an expensive green velvet cloak with fur trim around the hood.

***

"Madame Malfoy! What brings you here?"

"Severus, I have to talk to you. Can I come in?" Her voice was shaking. "And call me Narcissa, please..."

"Talk about what?"

"Please, let me come in." She seemed afraid.

Severus stepped aside, and allowed her to walk into the dark sitting room, closing the door behind her.

"Severus, I have to ask you a favour, a service."

"A favour?" the young man asked in disbelief. What could rich, beautiful Narcissa Malfoy possibly want from him?

"I know this must sound strange, but please, Severus, I beg you, can you make a fertility potion for me?" The pale blue eyes looked at him pleadingly.

"A fertility potion? I suppose all that pureblood inbreeding can be quite a hindrance to progeneration?" he sneered.

Narcissa blushed. "Please, can you make one?"

"Of course I can, that's not the question. I can make any potion ever conceived," he replied, a trace of swaggering in his voice. "The difficulty lies in obtaining Chamelirium root, a rare and pricey ingredient."

"I will pay you of course. Here, I have no money, but I can offer you this."

She reached into a pocket of her cloak to retrieve a ring with a massive gemstone, which she handed to him.

"This should be more than enough to cover the cost."

"I take it Lucius does not know you're here then?"

"No, and you must not tell him, please!"

Severus nodded and took the ring, holding it up to his eyes to examine it. It was a very large, oval sapphire, dark blue, and perfectly clear, set into a simple, unadorned silver ring. He imagined it would be worth hundreds of galleons. The idea of being paid for making potions was very alluring. His mother had not been able to leave him anything, apart from the derelict house; and a childhood spent in utter poverty had taught him the unfortunate necessity of money.

"Very well, I should have it ready in two weeks."

"Oh, Severus, thank you, thank you so much. May I come here to collect it?"

He nodded and let her out the door, watching her disappear down the dimly lit street like a startled animal.

***

Severus reached into his robes for a small leather pouch where he kept his valuables. The ring was still in his possession; he had never sold it. He had been able to obtain the Chamelirium root by other means, by taking some Felix Felicis potion, and going to look for the plant in the wild. At first he had saved the jewel for a time of greater need, and later his Hogwarts teacher's salary more than covered his modest expenses. He took it out, and watched how it refracted the light of the twitching flames, throwing a myriad of blue reflections onto the ceiling. It probably possessed some magical qualities; the cut of the stone was unusually deep, as if to focus the bearer's magical energy. He put the ring away, and his thoughts wandered back to Narcissa.

***

When Narcissa visited the second time, he invited her to sit down on the sofa and handed her the bottle with the finished potion. Narcissa pulled out a bottle of wine from under her cloak. She set it onto the small table, and conjured two goblets with her wand. Her delicate white fingers pushed back the velvet hood to reveal her platinum blond hair.

"Let's have a drink to celebrate," she said, pouring the wine.

Severus sat down beside her, uneasy and unsure how to behave, and accepted the goblet of wine she handed him. As he brought it to his lips, he detected a characteristic smell, which he immediately recognised.

"Love Potion! Narcissa! You, of all women, should not need one. What is this supposed to mean?"

She blushed. "Severus, I'm sorry! I wanted to seduce you. Please don't be mad!"

"Wh-what? Wh-Why? What about your husband?" Severus stammered. His thin, pale face flushed with embarrassment.

"Lucius? He would never find out. He doesn't love me anyway. He only married me for my beauty, and because I'm a pureblood," she said with bitterness in her voice.

Severus believed every word of that. He remembered Narcissa and Lucius from his school years. They had been a few years above him. There was a rumour amongst Slytherins, that Narcissa and Lucius' marriage had been arranged by their families even before they came to Hogwarts. Lucius had shown Narcissa off like a trophy. None of the boys in Slytherin ever dared to talk to her, for fear of provoking his jealousy.

"You are mad!" He made the wine vanish with a swipe of his wand.

"Am I? Severus, you don't understand! Lucius and I have been married for almost five years, and I'm still not pregnant. He blames me, of course, but what if it is him?"

"Then you taking that fertility potion is not going to help," he remarked dryly.

"Exactly! All he wants is a son, an heir. If I can't give him one, he will get rid of me." Her voice was almost hysterical when she finished.

"You want me to father your child? For fear that he will divorce you?" Severus asked incredulously.

"Divorce? Oh, no, he would never. The shame of it! These old pureblood families have other ways to end a marriage, Severus. Don't you see, my life is in danger!"

"Why me? If it looks anything like me…" he protested, shocked about those allegations. But he didn't put it past Lucius Malfoy to see to it that his wife died of some illness. Fragile as she always looked, it would be quite plausible.

"My sister has dark hair; it would just be the Black family blood coming through. Please, Severus, you're different. You're not like the other Death Eaters. You don't take pleasure in the atrocities; you have a good heart. Please, make love to me, just this once. I will make it worth your while." Tears dwelt in her eyes and her expression was desperate. "Please, please!"

Severus felt sorry for her. He hated seeing a woman cry. He had never been able to bear it when his mother did; for some reason it always made him feel guilty. He put his arm around her shoulders, and stroked her hair. It felt so soft and silky, and her body was so warm. Why shouldn't he? At least to prove to himself that he couldn't care less about what Lily and Potter where doing in their newly-wedded bliss. He had never been with a girl, and like all young men, it was something he craved to the point of obsession. Narcissa was very beautiful, and the idea of crossing the threshold of manhood with her was very enticing, if a little scary.

Narcissa swallowed and wiped away her tears. She started to undo the buttons on the front of her cloak with shaky movements, and shrugged it off, revealing a short, pale green silk robe tied up around her waist. Severus suspected that she was wearing nothing underneath that. She had obviously planned this. Nevertheless, she looked ravishingly gorgeous. He admired her slim long limbs, her perfect ivory skin, the shape of her small breasts and erect nipples pressing against the thin fabric. He felt a tingling in his crotch as his body responded.

Narcissa moved closer and kissed him, her lips warm and soft. Then she looked him in the eyes, and said, "Take me to your bedroom."

His heart was thumping, and his knees felt a little wobbly, but without a word, he obeyed, and she followed him up the narrow staircase and into his small unadorned room with only a simple old bed and a small desk. The sheets were still crumpled up the way he had left them that morning, and he hastily tried to straighten them out.

Narcissa stood before him. She looked like an angel with her waist-long silvery blond hair falling down her back. She unbuttoned his shirt, and stripped it off him, followed by his trousers. Severus felt a little embarrassed about his old, greying briefs, but Narcissa didn't seem to care. She took him into her hand to caress him, and the intensity of the sensation made stars dance in front of his eyes.

"It's nice, Severus, so big," she whispered.

He blushed. Evidently he was better endowed than Lucius Malfoy.

He untied the ribbon around her waist, and brushed the garment off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. He had never before seen a woman naked, and the sight took his breath away. Narcissa reclined onto the bed, and taking his hand, pulled him towards her. Now he was kneeling between her splayed legs, his arousal sticking out in front of him like a flagpole.

What was she expecting him to do?

He ran his hand over her small round breasts, squeezing them gently, and she closed her eyes and sighed, arching her body towards him. His hand slid down across her stomach, towards the triangle of blond hair. Mesmerised, he cupped his hand around the little mound, sliding the flat of his thumb between her wet folds, stroking her gently. Her soft moan told him to continue, and he let his finger slide around with circular movements, while his other hand caressed the soft inside of her thigh.

Being able to please a woman like that gave him a sense of pride and confidence. He continued his caresses until she cried out, and a shiver went through her body. Seeing the pleasure on her face aroused him even more. His erection was throbbing and demanded relief. He braced over her, fumbling around between her legs awkwardly, until she reached down to guide him in. They both gasped, when his tip pushed into her. She was so tight, he was afraid he would hurt her.

"Come deep inside me, Severus," she whispered.

It felt wonderful when he pushed all the way in, better than anything he had felt before. His body demanded more. Entranced with his pleasure, he slid in and out with slow rhythmical movements. Narcissa's fingers dug into his back, and her long legs wrapped around his hips. He kept watching her face; her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be enjoying what he was doing to her. It wasn't long until he climaxed, and was hit by the powerful tidal wave of his release, that washed all thoughts from his mind. Breathing hard, he sank onto the mattress next to her.

"Severus," she whispered, her delicate hand caressing his chest, "I have never before enjoyed it like this."

He planted a kiss onto her forehead, and wrapped his arm around her. They lay silently together for a while. Severus savoured the feeling of holding a woman in his arms. Her body was so soft compared to his, so delicate, like a beautiful, fragile flower. Eventually, she got up and slipped into her robe.

"I'd better go now," she said, blowing him a kiss, before she left the room.

A moment later, he heard the front door click, and knew she had let herself out. For the first time in years, his heart felt quiet. Even though he wasn't in love with her, it had been nice, his very first sexual experience, and he had not thought about Lily and Potter for hours.

Narcissa came to Spinner's End regularly over the following weeks, and Severus accepted her without a word. Each time they would go up to his room and make love, and then Narcissa would quietly leave after a few hours, sometimes while he was asleep.

She showed him how to touch her, and they explored each other's bodies, trying different positions and techniques. Severus felt he was getting better each time, and the fact that the beautiful young woman sought his company did wonders for his self-esteem. Pleasing a woman was a wonderful skill, not unlike playing a musical instrument, a skill he was keen to master, and Narcissa was a good teacher. Neither of them made any pretences about this being more than an indulgent affair, but they both derived a little solace from those moments of tenderness and intimacy they shared.

Then, one day, Narcissa's visits ceased, and Severus knew it was over. At the next Death Eater gathering, she was absent, and a boastful Lucius announced that his wife was finally going to give him the long-awaited son, who would carry forth the noble house of Malfoy. Severus wondered whether it was the fertility potion or his semen that had impregnated her, but suspected that neither of them would ever know with certainty.

***

Years later, sat at the staff table in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, Severus had watched the sorting of the first years with unusual trepidation. For that year's intake of students brought to Hogwarts not only Harry Potter, Lily's son, whom he had pledged his life to protect, but also Draco Malfoy, the boy whose conception he had contributed to in one way or another.

He had imagined that he might know, once he finally met the boy. But, unlike Harry, who reminded him painfully of his father, Draco was the image of his mother. He was a handsome boy, tall and slim like Narcissa, with the same platinum blond hair, watery blue eyes, and fine pointed nose. But whether there was any resemblance to Lucius, or to himself - Severus could not tell.

From the first day, Draco and Harry seemed to share an animosity much like James Potter and Severus had in their youth. Reminded of how James had always taunted him, he felt compelled to take sides. Over the years, however, he had to concede that Draco was not like him, and was never going to be more than a mediocre wizard. He might have been talented enough, but had never learned to work hard. Spoiled and used to other people following his orders, the boy had been raised to believe himself superior by birth, and was arrogant and complacent. Yet he felt protective of him; for he knew that, despite his privileged upbringing, he would not have had a happy childhood, and was set down a path by his father that could only lead to making the same dreadful mistake that Severus had in his youth.

***

And now that same protectiveness had led him to make such a grave mistake. He recalled the day Narcissa had come to Spinner's End, her abhorrent sister in tow, and wondered if she knew, if she had turned to him because Draco was his own flesh and blood.

He knew he would have to die, in order to save Dumbledore. How much time did he have left? A few months, to the end of the school year at most.

Miss Ravenhood's lips – he really had to get them out of his mind.


	5. The Dark Side

Samara paced the corridors at the hospital. Rarely had she been this agitated and desperate. With the second stage of their potions successfully completed, she had filled in the application for a vial of unicorn blood, and handed it to the hospital supply manager weeks ago. Then this morning, he had come to her office with some very bad news.

"I'm sorry, Miss Ravenhood, your application for unicorn blood was rejected by the Ministry. They say they see the merits of your case, but their stocks are depleted; they have none left."

"Depleted? How is that possible? It's never been a problem before. Unicorn blood is rarely used. How can they suddenly run out?"

"My brother-in-law, who works at the Department for Magical Maladies, reckons it has been stolen."

"Stolen?"

"Well, you see, when Scrimgour came in, there was a lot of staff turnover. My brother-in-law thinks someone took advantage of all the turmoil. But then of course, it could just be an excuse…."

"An excuse, what do you mean?"

"Samara, there is more than one person at the Ministry who would not be sad to see Dumbledore dead…"

Samara exhaled, and buried her face in her hands, her elbows resting on the desk. How was it possible that this country was governed by such a bunch of scumbags? There was nothing they could do. It was utterly frustrating.

"Is there anywhere else we could get some?"

"Not really, unless you're willing to buy it on the black market."

"There is a black market for unicorn blood?"

"There is a black market for everything. As you know, the life of anyone who kills a unicorn is cursed, but there are people who will do anything for money. And it is quite likely that the blood stolen from the Ministry will be sold underhandedly."

"And how do you access this black market?"

"I have no idea. We would never turn to such sources for the hospital. However, I have heard rumours that Slime & Slouch in Knockturn Alley sells absolutely anything, even illegal and restricted substances…"

Samara knew she had no choice. With only a week to go until the full moon, she had no time to waste either. They had spent months working on this. If she failed to obtain the unicorn blood she had promised, she would never be able to look Snape in the eye again. And Dumbledore's days would be numbered. He was doing quite well on the potions so far, but Samara had no illusions that these would control the curse in his hand for more than a few more months.

Unable to concentrate on her work in any case, she decided to take the afternoon off, and go shopping. It was a grey and gloomy February day, and, compared to the usual hustle and bustle, Diagon Alley was fairly quiet.

Her first stop was Gringott's, where she took five hundred galleons from her vault. Illegal unicorn blood would not come cheap. She felt a little uneasy, carrying around so much gold, even more so walking down Knockturn Alley.

If Diagon Alley had been quiet, Knockturn Alley was positively deserted, and Samara was unsure whether to take this as a good thing or a bad thing. Even the mist seemed thicker and heavier here, giving the street the appearance of a ghost town. She walked down past the gilded entrance of Borgin & Burkes, past houses with boarded up windows, and shops sporting "No Mudbloods Served Here" signs for what seemed like a long way. Finally, the rusty sign of Slime & Slouch materialized out of the fog.

The shop window displayed hundreds of glass jars filled with slimy liquids, unidentifiable parts of animals, or poisonous plants. The centrepiece of the display, a giant squid suspended in a huge spherical glass bowl, looked at her with empty eyes.

Samara entered hastily, and found herself in a tiny shop, surrounded by shelves full of more stomach-turning substances, but not a soul in sight. Samara rang the bell on the counter to make her presence known, and after a few moments she could hear shuffling steps approaching from the back room. Then a small hunchbacked man appeared behind the counter. His greasy grey hair was tied back in a pony tail, and his yellow-green eyes reminded her of a toad.

"Good afternoon, fair lady, how may I be of service?" he asked with a sly smile, revealing a disjointed row of teeth.

"I am looking to buy some unicorn blood. You wouldn't have any for sale, would you?"

"Unicorn blood – I see, I see… It is a restricted substance, you know."

"I know, but I am entitled to acquire it, here -" Samara pulled from her pocket a piece of parchment that identified her as a St. Mungo's Healer, and showed it to him. His smile widened, but became no more pleasant.

"Very well, very well. We have to check, you see." He pulled out a parchment from under the counter. "And you have to fill in an application."

Samara was relieved that proper procedures seemed to be followed. Despite the creepiness of the shopkeeper, there seemed to be nothing illegal about his way of doing business. She filled in her details, the name of the patient that the unicorn blood was intended for, and signed and dated the form.

"Very nice, very nice. Now, we sell one eighth of an ounce at five hundred and eighty-seven galleons, immediate payment required, no returns accepted."

"Is this legally sourced blood?"

"Oh yes, perfectly legal, sourced from abroad, and very good quality, too."

"I only have five hundred and thirty-two galleons on me. Can I come back in about an hour to collect?"

"I see, I see, not to worry my dear. We will make you a special price, new customer discount, he he, five-hundred and thirty-two galleons."

"Thank you, that's very kind."

Samara counted the money out, and the toad-eyed man scurried to the back. After several long minutes, he returned with a tiny vial.

"Would you like it wrapped?"

"No thanks, I'll take it like this."

She slipped the vial into the inside pocket of her robe, and left, relieved to get away from the unpleasant shopkeeper.

Outside, it was almost dark now, and the dimly lit street looked even spookier than on her way there. Samara walked with hurried steps. She couldn't rid herself of the feeling that she was being followed, but whenever she looked back, the thickening fog would not reveal anything. There wasn't a soul in sight. The walk seemed endless, and she couldn't wait to get back to the friendly lights of Diagon Alley, which would now be bustling with people doing their after-work shopping.

Then, suddenly, she noticed a large cloaked man, standing in a doorway a few yards down the street, his face concealed in the shadow of his hood. Feeling uneasy, she changed to the other side of the street. As she reached the other sidewalk, another black hooded figure appeared from the grey swaths behind her, his menacing form approaching quickly.

Samara panicked; she could feel her heart beating up in her throat. There was nowhere to run. As she reached into her pocket for her wand, so did the hooded man behind her. Her attempt of a shield charm failed, and a moment later, her wand was thrust out of her hand. It hit the pavement, rolled along a few feet, and disappeared into a gutter. A split second later, she was hit by two stunning spells that threw her into darkness.

***

Severus Snape let out an inaudible sigh, as he stood outside the ornamental iron gate of Malfoy Manor. He had done this so many times before, yet each time the feeling of dread at the thought of being in the Dark Lord's presence was renewed. As always, he emptied his mind, filled his heart with cool dispassion, and straightened his face into a mask.

The gate sprang open to let him pass, and he walked down the gas-lit alley of weeping willows towards the house with calm, measured paces. The gravel crunched under his boots, and his breath condensed in the cold of the misty winter night. Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway, waiting to greet him.

"Lucius, I'm surprised to see you here. I thought you were still in Azkaban."

"Ah, you see, I have been granted amnesty, in recognition of my services to British wizardkind, and been allowed to spend the remainder of my sentence at home." A self-contented smile played around his lips as he continued. "The Dark Lord will be absent today. He is travelling, and asked me to chair today's meeting."

Severus was relieved to hear that. It would be a harmless affair then, with only Lucius' conceited and officious palaver to listen to. He followed Malfoy into the entrance hall.

"I'm glad you're here a little early, Severus. I need your help on something. With the Dark Lord away, you are the only Legilimens in our circle."

"What do you need Legilimency for, Lucius?"

"Ah, Severus, we have made a big catch today, a very big one. Avery and Mulciber picked up a young woman in Knockturn Alley earlier this evening, and guess what? She is Albus Dumbledore's personal physician! I want you to interrogate her, find out what she is treating the old fool for."

Now the feeling of dread was back, and Severus felt almost nauseous. It couldn't be, could it? What the hell was Miss Ravenhood doing in Knockturn Alley, and how could the Death Eaters have found out that she was treating Dumbledore?

"Do you know her name?" It cost him some effort to sound indifferent.

Malfoy retrieved a small parchment roll from his pocket.

"Look, that's what she had on her. Samara Ravenhood, works at St. Mungo's. You know about the task that the Dark Lord has entrusted my family with, Severus?"

He nodded "Indeed I do."

"Well, I have a cunning plan; it is perfect. All we need to do, is put this woman under the Imperius curse. I'm sure you could think of a potion that would make Dumbledore's death appear entirely natural. No one would need to know that we were implicated."

"But why risk using this woman? The Imperius curse does not always work reliably on a strong mind. If you wanted to slip something into Albus' pumpkin juice, I'd be perfectly positioned to do it myself."

"Why, Severus, who would have thought you'd begrudge me this honour. The Dark Lord has asked me and Draco to do this job, and I won't let you take the credit for it."

"I'm not begrudging you anything, Lucius. I just don't want you to make a mistake. You know as well as I do that the Dark Lord will not tolerate another blunder. Fail, and the consequences for your family will be dreadful."

"I will not fail. There are ways of breaking even the strongest person, Severus. When I'm finished with Miss Ravenhood, she will do anything I request of her. All I'm asking of you is that you break into her mind, it will be quicker than torturing the information out of her."

Severus considered his options. If she saw him in his Death Eater attire, she would probably blurt out something that could risk his cover. He had to prevent that at all cost. On the other hand, he was anxious to see her, see if she was hurt. And he had to get her out of here somehow. In his mind, he ran through the possible ways of transportation.

_Of course, a Portkey. _

If he could somehow pass it to her unnoticed, then nobody would be able to guess that he had anything to do with her disappearance. The timing was crucial, towards the end of their meeting would be ideal, while she would be locked up on her own.

"Very well, I'll be pleased to help you, Lucius, but the responsibility lies entirely with you. Is she here?"

"Yes, in the drawing room."

A small silver bell on the wall announced that somebody was standing outside the gate.

"That will be the Carrows. Excuse me for a moment while I let them in."

While Malfoy was busy greeting the new arrivals, and sending them into the lounge, where the meeting would be held, Severus searched his pockets for a suitable object to turn into a Portkey. His hand touched Narcissa's ring – It was brilliant, the irony of it… 'This will spoil your fun, Lucius', he thought, 'courtesy of your wife'. It only took him a moment to perform the spell.

"Let's do it now, before the meeting," he suggested once Malfoy returned.

Malfoy led him into the drawing room, where Miss Ravenhood was tied to a chair. She seemed scared, but otherwise unharmed.

'_Tacitus.' _

Before she had a chance to recognize him under his hood, he had put a silencing spell on her_,_ wordlessly performing the incantation in his mind. He walked up to her chair, and stood in front of her, looking down at her face.

It was so easy. She was looking right at him, revulsion and outrage flashing in her eyes, that she wanted to shout at him but could not. Her mind was wide open, and behind the unconcealed disgust and contempt for him, her memories of the last hours were there for him to read like a book. He got as far back as her conversation with her colleague, when she finally managed to break eye contact, but he had already seen all he needed to know.

"It will be far easier for you if you cooperate, Miss Ravenhood," he warned.

His long fingers reached into her robe, and into the pocket where he now knew she kept the unicorn blood. And as he took the small bottle from her, unnoticeable to anybody in the room, he put the ring, which was now a Portkey, in its place.

He held the little vial up to his eyes, and turning to Malfoy said, "I will keep this, and examine it, if you don't mind. We will talk later."

Malfoy nodded, and swishing his wand, made the ropes uncurl from Samara's legs and hands.

"I will take our guest to her quarters. Join the others, Severus. I won't be long."

His eyes glittered maliciously, and with his wand stabbed into Samara's side, he walked her out of the room.

Samara was seething. Snape was a traitor, a Death Eater. Myopina had been right, after all. All the time he had been pretending to want to save Dumbledore, when he had really been working for the other side.

She recalled how he had only taken an interest in working with her, once she had mentioned that she had access to unicorn blood, how he had always seemed so impatient, whenever she'd stressed that it could only be a last resort. He had been using her. Samara shuddered, wondering what he might do with it now. Apart from its healing power, unicorn blood had unthinkable dark applications; it wasn't only restricted because of its scarcity.

And now she had been instrumental in supplying the Death Eaters with it. Samara was angry with herself. She had made it so easy for him, romanticising about him like a silly teenager, and ignoring all the warning signs. But Snape had played his part well, if even Dumbledore was fooled by him. She couldn't blame him for her capture, however - he had known nothing of her plans. It had been the toad-eyed man, no doubt. What did they want with her?

The man they called Lucius dragged her down a dark, torch-lit staircase, which ended in front of a heavy door, enforced with iron bars. He opened it, and pushed her through into a dark, cavernous room. A torch on the wall illuminated the damp stone walls with its flickering light, barely revealing the only items of furniture, a small wooden table with two chairs, and a mattress in the corner**. **

"Now, Miss Ravenhood, since you are my guest, we should get to know each other a little, don't you think?" he said in an unpleasantly silky voice.

His long blond hair, tied in a ponytail at the back, and the heavily embroidered green velvet robe gave him a somewhat aristocratic look. His grey eyes, however, were like shards of ice, and there was nothing noble in them.

"Imperio!"

He made her turn, and walk to the table, sit on it, and recline. It was as if her body was a puppet, no longer obeying her command, but his. He stood before her, and his cold hand brushed against her leg, lifting up her robe. She knew what he was going to do. Nauseated and terrified of what was about to happen to her, she remembered what Snape had said, that it was possible to resist the Imperius curse.

'_Focus'_, she thought.

She gathered all her rage, her revulsion, her willpower, and tried to break free. As Malfoy bent over her, undoing the fly of his trousers, she spat in his face.

Now he was livid.

"You dirty whore, I will teach you manners!"

His fist hit her hard in the face, so hard, she almost fainted. She was still recovering from the blow, when he grabbed her, and threw her onto the hard stone floor.

"Crucio!"

Samara's body was on fire. The pain was unbearable; it filled every fibre of her being, drowning out all thought, or reason, or hope. She screamed, and screamed, and screamed. Time was standing still. When it finally stopped, she was clinging to the floor, panting, feeling powerless and broken.

But Malfoy was not satisfied. He kicked at her crumpled form with merciless brutality, again and again. Samara could feel something snap in her ribcage, and tasted blood in her mouth.

Then he dragged her into the corner, throwing her onto the mattress. Again he pushed her robes up, and forced her legs apart, but this time, she did not have the strength to resist. There was no point; she was going to die.

Malfoy's face hovered above her, his mouth drawn into a cruel smile. She closed her eyes, and tried to take her mind far, far away, to Ravencroft, and Trixie, and her horses, who she would never see again.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"Lucius, everybody is here. Are you coming, or not?" It was Snape's voice.

Malfoy did his trousers up, swearing under his breath.

"We are not finished!" he hissed at her, before rushing out of the door.

Samara could hear the door being bolted; then it was quiet. She lay motionless for a long while as every movement was agony. It wasn't over - it was just a brief deferment of the horror yet to come. She knew Malfoy would be back before long.

Samara wished for nothing more than to be in her mother's arms. Maybe that was what death would feel like. Warm blood trickled into her eye, and she had to move, in order to wipe it away. She reached into the pocket of her robes, looking for a handkerchief, but there was none. Instead, her hand touched a small, hard object.

What was it? It couldn't be the small bottle, as Snape had taken it from her, the little vial that had cost so much. She took the thing out to look at it in the dim flicker of the torch. It was a ring, a ring she had seen many times before. It was the ring her mother had always worn.

Samara was perplexed. How could her mother's ring just appear in her pocket? She put it on her finger, it fit her perfectly. Was it possible that her mother had enchanted it, to bring her daughter support and consolation in her hour of need? In any case, she felt a little stronger and composed now. They could abuse her body, but never her mind, not unless she let them.

Samara thought of her mother, and about what Snape had said about mother love. Snape… His betrayal hurt more than her injuries.

Suddenly, she was yanked out of the dungeon, literally, yanked through the air, far, far away.

* * *

**A/N:** There is a fanart for this chapter at http: //herbologist. deviantart. com/art/The-Dark-Side-143589021 (take out spaces)


	6. Safe Haven

**6 Safe Haven**

Samara felt herself being hauled through the air for a few moments; then she tumbled down, bumped painfully into a fence panel, and landed on her hands and knees on a hard stone-paved surface. She looked up. By the faint light of half moon, could make out the silhouette of a small house. It seemed to be one of a terrace of Victorian workers houses, and she was kneeling in what appeared a small patio backyard. The house itself had an air of neglect. The windows where dull, while the white paint of the backdoor was flaking. A number of flowerpots with unsightly plants where scattered about. One of them contained a Peruvian mandrake - an unlikely adornment in a Muggle garden, she thought. It was raining, and soon her wet hair and robe clung to her uncomfortably.

Where was she, and how had she got here? The ring had been a Portkey, of course, but how had it got into the pocket of her robes? Mysterious as it was, she felt extremely grateful for having escaped further abuse and torture. The mere thought of what had been about to happen to her made her shiver. Suddenly, she heard a soft pop a few yards away – someone had just Apparated. She saw the black silhouette of a tall figure in a long, hooded cloak scanning the surroundings. Her heart sank; it hadn't taken them long to find her. There was nowhere to hide. Trying to duck down, and melt into the shadows, Samara wished the ground could swallow her up. The Death Eater seemed to have discovered her, and started to move towards her with slow, heavy steps. She was terrified. Then a familiar deep voice broke the silence. It was Snape.

"There you are."

He reached her and crouched next to her. Blind rage and indignation drowned out the fear in her heart.

"Death Eater! Traitor!" she spat at him in disgust.

"And lucky for you. If I had not been there tonight, your little escapade would have come to a sorry end," he replied calmly.

"You?"

Samara looked at him incredulously. Suddenly, she remembered how his long fingers had reached into just that pocket in her robes to retrieve the vial of unicorn blood earlier this night. Had he slipped the Portkey into her pocket? But why would he want to get her out of that place? Was it rivalry between him and Malfoy, or did he have his own insidious plans for her? And why did he have her mother's ring? The only possible answer to that was too sinister to consider.

"You're not very quick thinking tonight, Miss Ravenhood," he growled. "Now let's get you inside."

For a moment, Samara was too confused to protest, nor was she in any condition to resist. Pulling her arm over his shoulders, he slipped his hand under her knees, lifted her up, and carried her towards the house. The backdoor sprung open before him, and opened the way into what looked like the kitchen. With a casual flick of his wand, candles lit up in a rusty holder on the wall, the fire in the old-fashioned cast-iron hearth sprang to life, and the door closed with a bang.

Snape sat her down on a small wooden table that stood along one of the walls. Samaras battered body did not appreciate being moved, and was searing with pain. Clenching her teeth, she didn't manage to suppress a faint whimper.

"Pain?"

Samara didn't answer, and just gave him a look of pure loathing.

She tried to check out the dimly lit room, although she could hardly see with her left eye, probably because it was so swollen. The floor was covered in grimy stone tiles, and the walls in peeling white paint. There were cobwebs everywhere, as if the place had not been inhabited for some time. Apart from the table and a couple of chairs, there was a shelf full of dusty old glass bottles, some of which Snape was now removing, and placing onto the table next to her. Then he walked over to an old sink in the corner, and returned with a bowl of steaming hot water and a couple of towels.

"What are you going to do with me?" she challenged him.

He looked at her, an amused smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

"Patch you up, keep you away from Malfoy's misguided attention. I thought you would appreciate that."

She ignored the sarcasm in his voice.

"So you betrayed Dumbledore all those years! A Death Eater!" she shouted full of indignation.

Snape looked at her sternly. "Now listen, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, I broke with the Dark Lord a long time ago. When he returned, Dumbledore asked me to go back to provide him with intelligence, and I can assure you it is no pleasant job. Your foolishness tonight could easily have blown my cover."

He opened one of the bottles and poured some of the content into the hot water. It had a pungent and medicinal smell that Samara knew well.

"What?"

Samara was considering his words, unsure what to think. She held up her hand to his face.

"This is my mother's ring. She wore it the night she was murdered. If you're on our side, how come it was in your possession?"

Now it was Snape, who looked genuinely baffled.

"Your mother's ring?"

"How did you get it?"

Her eyes flashed angrily.

"Just keep it. It's yours, I don't want it back," he replied defiantly, seemingly unnerved.

"That's not the point. How did you get it? How?"

"I cannot tell you that, but I assure you I obtained it in a perfectly legitimate way."

"Why should I believe you? And how can anyone be sure that you are not spying for the Death Eaters?"

"That would be Professor Dumbledore's concern. I won't discuss it. Now let me attend to that nasty cut on your head."

"Don't you dare touch me!"

His expression was somewhere between annoyed and amused. He raised one eyebrow.

"Don't be silly. Be grateful that you can't see your face at the moment, it is not a pretty sight."

She considered her options. She was wandless and injured, and he had potions that would help her. As a Healer and Potions Mistress, she was well familiar with the smell and taste of all these potions, so he would not be able to slip her anything harmful without her noticing. Whether or not he was saying the truth, if she allowed him to heal her, she would be stronger and better able to respond when it became apparent why he had brought her here. Until she was in a better position to escape, her best course of action was to appear cooperative, but avoid taking anything too sedative. She needed to keep her wits about her.

Snape soaked a towel in the water, and reached out to wipe away the blood from her head. She flinched away and tensed involuntarily. After the brutal violence she had just experienced, she couldn't help but be scared of a man trying to touch her. Her reaction hadn't escaped him. His hand stopped in mid air, and put the towel aside. His other hand slowly moved to touch her hair, then slid round to cup the back of her head. She started trembling uncontrollably, her breathing coming in sharp, shallow gasps, while she stared into his black, unfathomable eyes.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly, "Although this may sting a little."

With his left holding her head still, his right hand reached for the towel again. He started to dab at the wound above her eye with unexpected gentleness. Before long, her body stopped trembling.

"See, nothing to be afraid of," he murmured.

Then he took his wand to perform a simple healing spell.

His wand was ebony, like hers, but a little longer. Samara felt sad, when she remembered her own wand of ebony and unicorn hair, the one her dad had bought her in Ollivander's, before she went to Hogwarts, and which was now lost.

Snape had soaked another towel in de-swelling potion, and proceeded to carefully dab some around her cheek and eye. The sensation of his touch was not so unpleasant. Samara closed her eyes, and felt the tightness and soreness subside. With a deep, shuddering breath, her tension fell away. His caring and gentle behaviour was not just healing the external bruises.

"That's better," he muttered. "Now, where are you hurting?"

"I think I have broken some ribs," she whispered.

His hands felt around her ribcage. She flinched, when he touched a sore area.

He nodded. "Let's see, what can we do about that? I'm no expert at healing spells."

"Just take me to St. Mungo's, they'll fix it."

"No." He shook his head. "For the time being, it's safer for you to stay here."

"Do you have any Skele-Gro?"

"I do." He took a silver goblet from one of the cupboards, and another bottle off the shelf, filled the goblet, and handed it to her.

She hesitated, looking at the goblet in her hand. There was a faint engraving of a snake winding itself around a crown.

"Worried I might poison you?" he remarked dryly.

Samara blushed. She held her breath, and downed the viscous white liquid with its familiar awful taste.

"You will need to rest now."

"I need to go home."

"Not until you are well and fit to travel, and not while Malfoy is still out there looking for you. Now put your arm around my neck."

Samara obeyed, and he picked her up, and carried her up a narrow staircase to a small landing, and into an unadorned room with a rusty old bed. He put her down, and lit the candle on the bedside table.

There was a small wooden wardrobe in the corner, from which he took a bundle of garments, and handed them to her.

"Here, you can wear these. Get out of those damp clothes, I'll be back shortly." He left, and closed the door behind him.

The bundle turned out to be a pair of women's flannel pyjamas, as Samara deduced from the flower embroidery around the hem, hardened from uncountable washes, but warm nonetheless. She changed into them, and slipped under the covers, which felt so toasty, Snape probably had performed a warming charm on them. She sighed, only just realising how cold she had been.

After a few minutes, he returned with another goblet, and sat down by the bed.

"For the pain," he said, holding the goblet to her lips.

Again, Samara inhaled the fumes of the potion. Satisfied that it was what he said, and nothing else, she drank willingly. As soon as she had finished, her eyelids became heavy, and she sank down on the pillow. Only now did she realise just how exhausted she was. The last thing she felt before drifting off was Snape pulling the covers up around her.

* * *

Suddenly, Samara felt a cold hand on her thigh, its fingers digging cruelly into her flesh. Scared, she wanted to get away, but she could not move. It was pitch black around her, but she could hear somebody breathing in the dark. Then the tip of a wand lit up in front of her face. Through the blinding light she could see Malfoy's face, his icy grey eyes glittering maliciously.

"Now my dear, what an unfortunate interruption, shall we resume where we left off?"

An evil smile played around his mouth. He pointed his wand at her chest. Terrified, she tried to scream, again, and again, but there was no air in her lungs, no sound left her throat.

* * *

"Miss Ravenhood, wake up!"

Snape's deep voice cut through her dream. Then Malfoy was gone, and the darkness was illuminated by soft candlelight. Samara found herself sitting up in bed, trembling, her eyes wide open, her heart racing. Snape sat on the edge of the mattress, dressed in an old, grey night shirt, his hands resting on her shoulders.

"Shhh, it was only a dream."

Slowly, Samara relaxed. His presence was somehow comforting.

"Cruciatus syndrome – you've been screaming your lungs out," he explained. "What else did he do to you? Did he -"

Snape hesitated. His eyes bored into hers searchingly. Samara looked away, shaking her head. She didn't want to think about those terrible moments.

"He tried…"

Snape let out a breath, as if relieved. He took a goblet from the bedside table, and handed it to her.

"Drink. You are strong, you will get through this."

She accepted the goblet and took a tiny sip. She recognized the taste. It was Dreamless Sleep Potion. Though the temptation of a good night's sleep was strong, she remembered her resolution. He did not fail to interpret her hesitation correctly.

"Drink. I will watch over you, and I won't touch you. You are safe here."

She wanted to believe him. Within seconds of downing the potion, she tumbled into a warm, welcoming darkness.

* * *

When Samara woke up, the orange glow of afternoon sun filled the room. Feeling much better, she got up, and changed into her own clothes, which lay dried and folded on the bedside table. The Skele-Gro had done its job, and she only felt a slight soreness now. The house was completely quiet, apart from the creaking of floorboards under her steps. As she climbed down the stairs, Snape appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Samara couldn't believe her eyes; he was wearing Muggle clothes. The washed out jeans and black turtleneck jumper suited him well, revealing the shape of his body far more than his wizard robes did. She was still torn between her infatuation with him, and the shock at finding out he was a Death Eater.

"Are you hungry?"

Yes, she was very hungry. Samara nodded.

"Come with me then."

She followed him, her stomach rumbling as she breathed in the delicious smell of home-cooked food that greeted her from the kitchen. He pulled away one of the chairs from the kitchen table, inviting her to sit down. Then he brought her a bowl of steaming food from a large copper cauldron on the hearth. Samara dipped in her spoon and sighed. It was some sort of beef and vegetable stew, and it was very good. Snape sat down opposite her, watching her eat in silence. She took a look around the kitchen. The cobwebs were gone, and, while still run down and in need of attention, the place looked much more habitable than it had the night before. In the corner stood a plastic bag sporting the logo of a Muggle supermarket chain.

"You went to Sainsbury's?"

"Where else would I go to obtain provisions around here?"

"It's just, I thought-"

"You thought I would hate Muggles? I'm a halfblood, I grew up in the Muggle world."

"In this house?"

He nodded.

"Make yourself at home, I'll be next door if you need anything," he said and left the kitchen.

Once she was finished with her food, she went to look for Snape, and found him sitting in an old, worn out armchair in a small sitting room next to the kitchen. A fire was lit, and Snape was reading, surrounded by stacks of books. There was hardly an inch of wall space that was not covered with books.

"When can I go home?"

"Not until tomorrow morning. By then, the Dark Lord will be back, and Malfoy will have no time for extracurricular activities. Until then, you will stay here. Read a book, if you want."

He got up and picked a tattered looking book from one of the shelves, which he handed to her.

"Here, you might enjoy this one."

Samara sighed, and sat down on the floor in front of the fire. She looked through the book Snape had given her. It was a Potions book, a very rare one probably, as she had never come across it. Her eyes swept across the bookshelves. The tomes covered a wide range of topics, from Arithmancy to Transfiguration, Potions to Herbology, more Potions - to some very dark and sinister looking ones. She wondered what Snape was reading. The title of the book he was holding read _'Ancient Blood Magic'_. Why would someone as accomplished as Snape join You-know-who? To Samara's mind, Death Eaters were dim-witted losers.

"Why did you become a Death Eater?"

He looked up from his reading, his unyielding gaze revealing nothing.

"I have been asking myself that exact same question for the past seventeen years," he replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"I do think you owe me an explanation," Samara insisted.

"I don't owe you anything, Miss Ravenhood. And if an explanation is due, maybe you would care to reveal why you thought strolling into Slime and Slouch would be a good idea. If that was the only option, I could have gone myself. And that shield charm was just pathetic."

Samara blushed. "Did you read my mind back there?"

"Sort of."

"That wasn't very nice."

"It wasn't meant to be nice, it was necessary in the situation."

"Still, I'd rather you didn't do it again."

"Then don't give me a reason to. And work on your self-defence skills. There are dark and dangerous times ahead; you'll be a danger to yourself and others."

Samara looked at the floor. Ever since the day her family was murdered, she had lost her nerve in Defence Against the Dark Arts. She had scraped an "A" at her OWLS, mostly due to her strong Patronus, and had dropped the subject at NEWT level.

"I tried, it's hopeless."

"With that defeatist attitude of yours it will be. All it takes is practice."

He returned to his book, and they sat there quietly for a while. Samara looked at him stealthily, trying not to stare at the lean, muscular form of his thighs underneath the denim. Somehow he looked more attractive than ever. His slim hands holding the book, stroking across the pages almost lovingly, the shadows thrown by his black lashes as he sat there, engrossed in his reading, still inspired a deep longing in her.

Oh, she so much wanted to trust him, but now she wasn't sure what to think. Snape, the Death Eater, reformed and spying for Dumbledore according to his own words…Snape, who had intervened when she was tortured, and almost raped. Snape, who had helped her escape, and taken care of her injuries. His behaviour towards her had been entirely noble, how could she doubt his integrity? Her feelings for him were unchanged, but she was afraid of what sinister secrets his past might hold. Snape, who had her mother's ring, and wouldn't tell her how he obtained it… Why had he chosen to become a Death Eater? What horrible crimes might he have committed, and what had made him turn back? Questions she so much wanted the answers to, but knew he would refuse to talk about.

Samara decided to go to bed early, still tired after the events of the night before. As much as she wanted to go home, she was glad not to be alone during the night, despite the Dreamless Sleep potion Snape had given her to take before bedtime.

The next morning, she Apparated back to Ravencroft. Snape had managed to retrieve her wand, and Samara was overjoyed. Before she left, he warned her to be careful.

"You must not stay at the hospital out of hours any more, it is no longer safe. We will move the potions into my office, and complete them there. At least we still have this..." He pulled the little vial of unicorn blood from his pocket. "Hopefully, it will be worth all the trouble."


	7. Fighting Failure

On Friday, Snape came to the hospital to transport the cauldrons with the unfinished potions to his office. They had agreed to meet at Hogwarts on Saturday evening, so they could complete the final stage together, but Samara decided to travel to there in the afternoon already to have tea with her godmother. She wanted to ask Poppy what she thought about Snape.

Poppy, as always, was complaining that she didn't see more of her godchild. She had made Samara's favourite cauldron cakes, and the two of them sat chatting about this and that. Samara was unsure how to best breach the topic, and in the end decided to dive straight in.

"Poppy, can I ask you something? What is your opinion of Professor Snape?"

"Severus? He is a very competent man, probably the best Potions Master Hogwarts has ever seen. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's just that I'm working on something with him, something for Dumbledore."

"Oh, so you are treating Dumbledore? I see..." Poppy seemed a little hurt because she hadn't been asked to help.

"I know he is competent. But I heard...I mean... Did you know he is a Death Eater?"

"Of course I do," Poppy replied unconcerned. "I can see how you must feel about that, dear, but you need not worry. Snape is completely reformed. Whatever horrible things he might have done in the past, he sincerely regrets them."

"But how can you be so sure?"

"Of course, we all had doubts initially. But Snape has proven himself many times since, and more than once put his life in danger in the process. Albus trusts him completely, and nobody fools Albus Dumbledore. Snape might not be a pleasant person, unsociable, hard on the students, but he is a decent man."

Samara hung onto her godmother's lips, thirsting to quench the fear that was nagging inside her, the fear that her dream might suddenly crumble to pieces. So Dumbledore knew, and he didn't doubt Snape's loyalty. Even Poppy was convinced of his integrity. It was such a happy thought that she smiled absent-mindedly. Poppy shot her an inquiring look.

"Oh, dear... Child, you haven't developed a crush on Professor Snape, have you?"

"No! Of course not, what makes you think that?" Samara blushed.

"Oh, I don't know... I hope you haven't. Samara, a man like Snape will never get away from his past. You do not just walk out on You-know-Who. I just want you to be happy, find a nice guy, marry, have a family..."

"You needn't worry, Poppy, our relationship is purely professional."

Samara busied herself with her cauldron cake, in order to avoid looking her godmother in the eye, and quickly changed the subject.

***

When Samara knocked on Snape's door, he had already set out everything they needed on his desk. Once the potions had been heated up and were bubbling vigorously, Snape took the little vial of unicorn blood, and carefully let three drops fall into the first cauldron, stirring three times in between. He looked at the boiling liquid full of anticipation, but then his face turned stony.

"Is anything wrong?" Samara asked.

"This doesn't look right."

She walked over, and peeked into the cauldron herself.

"Oh!" The potion had turned a murky brown and smelled rather unpleasant. "What have you done?"

"You saw me, I just followed your instructions," Snape replied defiantly.

"Give me the vial; I'll do the next one."

Samara repeated the procedure with the second cauldron, and covered her mouth with her hand when she saw the result. The same had happened again.

"Are you sure this is the vial you took out of my pocket?"

"Positively."

They proceeded to the third cauldron which was now their last hope, trepidation showing on both their faces, but the result was the same.

Snape looked at Samara through the stinking vapour that rose from the cauldron. "You know there is only one possible answer; the unicorn blood you bought is fake."

"But I paid over five hundred galleons for it!" Samara was nearly in tears.

"As if that means anything," he sneered. "All it means is that you were ripped off! Why did you even go to Slime & Slouch? Did you not know how dubious that place is?"

"No, it was recommended to me. And there was no other option anyway."

"If you had asked me, I could have told you Slouch is a supporter of the Dark Lord," he hissed angrily. "It would have saved us both and awful lot of trouble."

He pointed his wand at the cauldron and made it explode. Samara ducked behind his desk as stinking brown liquid splattered everywhere, and watched in horror as he proceeded to do the same with the other two cauldrons.

"Scourgify!" she called, doing a 360 degree swipe with her wand, making the brown splatters disappear.

Meanwhile, Snape was scanning the room, his face livid, as if looking for something else to blow up.

"Stop it, will you? It doesn't help!" she rebuked him.

He turned and looked at her, his eyes flashing. Then he gruffly grabbed her arm, and dragged her with him towards the door.

"Come!"

"Where?" she protested.

"You'll see!"

He pulled her out into the dark corridor, up several flights of stairs, down another corridor, past the Great Hall, and further on. Samara could hardly keep up with his ground-covering steps, she almost had to run. She had no idea where they were heading, and why, and his behaviour made her feel uneasy. She had never seen him so angry. Finally he stopped in front of a wall, and as he looked at it intently, a heavy wooden door suddenly appeared. He opened it, pushed her through, and closed it behind them with a bang. Samara found herself in a large room lit by torches on the walls. A circle was drawn on the floor in the centre.

"Now, we are not leaving here until you have produced a decent shield charm!" Snape announced, in a tone that would not tolerate any opposition.

"What?" Samara couldn't believe her ears. This was ridiculous. "I'm not your student!" she rebelled.

"No, my students without exception have mastered this," he said, determination showing on his face, "and I will see to it that you do, too. Now watch!"

Snape moved to stand in the circle in the centre of the room and drew his wand. Suddenly the shining knight's armour that stood in the corner sprung to life and approached the circle. It lifted its arm, and shot some flashes of light towards Snape. But Snape had conjured a perfect shield charm, so that the flashes neatly bounced off, and extinguished on the floor.

Turning to Samara, he called "That's what it should look like, not the frazzled impression that you produced the other day!"

He pointed his wand, and blew the armour to pieces. The shiny metal parts rolled and clattered along the floor a short distance, before magically reforming into the original armour. Then the thing multiplied, and now there were three silver knights moving menacingly toward Snape. Once more he hexed them into a clanking disarray of metal, without so much as pronouncing a word, his wand moving with quick determined strokes. And again they reassembled and multiplied, until there were nine of them, approaching the circle from all sides, shooting flashes of light at him. Snape pivoted round, a whirl of black robes and flashes of light, and nine armours crashed to the floor.

Samara watched from a safe distance, enthralled, as variations of the scenario repeated themselves, faster and faster. Snape was showing off, or maybe he just felt the need to vent his anger. In any case, his skilful display was impressive to watch; she had never seen anything like it.

"Finite Incantatem!" his dark voice finally echoed between the stone pillars.

The armours merged back into one, and went to stand in the corner. Snape returned, breathing heavily, strands of hair stuck to his forehead, where droplets of sweat had appeared. The exercise seemed to have calmed him down. He took off his cloak and jacket, and dropped them in a heap on the floor, revealing the white high-collared linen shirt he wore underneath. Wiping sweat off his face with his sleeve, he tucked his wand underneath the belt of his trousers.

"Now it's your turn," he told Samara.

She looked at him wide-eyed. "I... I can't!"

"Of course you can."

He took her hand and dragged her into the circle.

"Stand straight!" he commanded, and proceeded to adjust her posture with firm, but gentle grip. "Relax, let me guide your hand."

Her pulse accelerated at the softness of his voice. Standing inches behind her, he enclosed his larger hand around her right hand, the hand that held her wand. Samara closed her eyes as he showed her the correct movement, moving her hand in a circle and thrust motion. His hand was warm and strong, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body. The musky scent of sweaty male wafted into her nose. It did little to help her concentrate on the task at hand. Then he stepped aside to watch her try on her own. Samara felt nervous.

"Protego!" she pronounced as clearly as she could.

"Miss Ravenhood," he scolded, "I expect you to perform the incantation in your head, rather than blurt out like a small school child! Try again!"

He waved his wand at the armour in the corner, which started to advance against Samara, who just stared at it transfixed as it started to shoot flashes at her.

"Ouch!" One of them had hit her elbow. "Ouch!" And another one her shoulder. "Stop it, please!" she wailed.

"Miss Ravenhood, will you stop whinging, and at least try to defend yourself!" he shouted at her impatiently.

"Ouch! Please, stop it!"

Snape shoved the armour back into its corner with a casual swipe of his wand, and marched over to her.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" he spat angrily.

"I'm scared!" she snivelled, rubbing her arm.

"Scared of what? This thing will only sting a little, it won't hurt you." His tone was exasperated.

"But I can't help imagining what it would be like for real, what it was like when my mum..." she sniffed, tears glistening in her eyes.

Snape looked at her quietly for a moment, considering her words. Then he took his wand, and drew a line on the floor.

"Here, I want you to stop the armour with your shield charm before it gets to this line. If you fail, I promise I will take it down for you; I won't allow it to get to you. Does that make you feel safer?"

She nodded.

"If however, you do not raise your wand and try, I will let it sting you," he warned.

Samara took up her spot again, smiling meekly, but feeling much more confident with Snape backing her up. This time she managed to get a partial shield up, and Snape blew the armour to pieces before it could cross the line. After less than a dozen attempts, Snape no longer had to intervene, and after a dozen more tries, Samara got a good shield charm every time.

"I did it!" she beamed at him. "Can we try something else?"

A satisfied smile played around the corners of his mouth. "Sure. Can you stun?"

She shook her head. Snape proceeded to show her the technique, and then she practised in the same way as before. Within a couple of hours more, Samara had mastered the stunning spell as well. When they finally stopped, she felt elated, but exhausted and hungry. As she said so, a trolley of sandwiches suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

"Did you conjure this?"

"No, the room did."

Samara looked at him confused.

"Have you never heard of the Room of Requirement? It appears when you need it, and gives you what you need. We are using this as a training facility for members of the Order to practice combat skills," Snape explained as they sat down on the stone floor, their backs against the wall, and ate the sandwiches.

After a while Samara got up, and walked to stand by one of the windows. Looking out into the night, she thought about the idea that she had in her head.

"We still have several hours of moonlight in order to start on a new potion," she finally said.

"What for? We have no unicorn blood."

"The solution could just present itself in time."

"Your optimism is endearing, Miss Ravenhood," he scoffed.

She turned to face him. "See, I want to work on it in here, not in your office." She looked at him expectantly. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I know what you're thinking, but unlike you I also know that it won't work," he drawled.

"Now who's being defeatist? Why would it not work?"

"Because the magic of this room is not that powerful," he replied in a bored tone. "Anything in here is from within the castle: The food was from the kitchens. That armour over there normally stands by the staircase leading to the Astronomy Tower. The room will give you cauldrons, tools, and ingredients, but only so long as they are found in my or Professor Slughorn's store's, or the greenhouses. And as there is no unicorn blood anywhere within Hogwarts, it is a pointless exercise."

"Anyway, I'm going to try," she announced, full of determination. She made her way over to the corner, where a work bench with cauldrons and jars of potions ingredients had appeared.

"Are you going to help me or what?"

Snape sighed exasperated, but eventually got up and joined her. It was past three in the morning, when they finally completed the first stage of a new potion, and Samara went home, exhausted.


	8. Ravencroft

Samara was standing in front of her closet, trying to decide what to wear. It was an unusually warm and sunny day for early May. Looking out through her bedroom window, she could see the orchard with its fruit trees dressed in young leaves of a fresh, bright green shade. Some of them were still showered in white or pink blossoms. Beyond, in the distance, the ocean was glittering in the sun, the waves adorned with little white crowns of foam. The two black horses were grazing peacefully in the shade of the trees.

Below in the kitchen, Trixie was chopping vegetables and preparing dinner. Samara had told her that this was a special occasion. She wanted to impress Snape. The thought that he would be arriving here so shortly made her feel slightly giddy, and butterflies were dancing violently in her stomach.

Over the last two months, they had worked on the second attempt of the potion, but Samara's plan, to have the Room of Requirement deliver the unicorn blood, had failed, quite predictably, according to Snape. In the end, all they could do was bottle up the unfinished potions, and keep them, hopefully for future use. Samara had tried to re-apply to the Ministry as well, but to no avail. Snape had been unwilling to try anything else, claiming to be very busy, but she suspected that he was disillusioned with their project. And then, just as she, too, was losing hope, she suddenly had an idea that refuelled her optimism. Initially, she had been a little hesitant to tell him about her plan, as it required her to reveal her best kept secret, but then she had decided she could trust him, and had invited him to Ravencroft. To her surprise, he had accepted.

She finally picked a floaty summer dress, made from layers of pale blue chiffon silk, which complemented her pale skin and blue eyes, and went with the spirit of the first days of spring. Her dark hair was flowing over her shoulders and back in the usual unruly mess, and she made no attempt to tame it. If Samara was perfectly honest with herself, part of her hoped that something would finally happen between them, and that was why she was making such an effort to look pretty. And there was something else, too...That nagging trepidation about exactly what horrible things he might have been party to during his time as a Death Eater. Did she hope that, by bringing him back to the crime scene, she was likely to get some answers?

She had to hurry up; it was time to go pick him up from the forest, where she had told him to wait. As she skipped down the stairs into the hallway, her eyes fell onto the beautiful display of white delphiniums in a large vase by the fireplace - dear Trixie, she had thought of everything!

***

Severus had Apparated to the small Muggle village a few miles from the Devonshire coast, as Samara had instructed him, and had followed the footpath that led from the village through fields, where cows were grazing, and finally into a dense beech wood. It was a warm day, and, under his long black travelling cloak, he was wearing only his white linen shirt and black trousers. His glossy, black hair was neatly parted in the middle, and adorned with indigo reflexes, conjured by the spots of light that managed to penetrate the canopy of leaves above. He reached the spot where she had asked him to meet her, and waited.

His hands were clenched in the pockets of his cloak in nervous anticipation. Did this qualify as a date? If all she wanted was to discuss a new Potions idea, there was hardly a need to invite him for dinner. He turned when he heard the sound of breaking twigs to his left. The sight that presented itself took his breath away. Bathed in pale green sunlight, Samara was emerging from the shadows of the trees, smiling and waving at him. Severus had never seen her dressed so femininely, and revealing so much pale soft skin. Her long, dark hair was falling over her naked shoulders in playful locks.

"Good to see you!"

Samara gave him a shy hug. He stiffened when he felt her body against his, and her arms around his neck, so fragile. The perfume of violets and lily-of-the-valley wafted from her hair, and Severus had to fight the urge to run his fingers through it. He was relieved when she let go after a short moment. Waving him to follow, she turned, and started to walk back down along the left-hand path, which didn't appear to lead anywhere, but, in reality, was the well concealed entrance to an ancient wizarding home.

Suddenly, the path continued as if it had always been there, and, after only a few hundred yards, the forest ended, giving way to green fields and a sandy path leading up to a manor house, surrounded by gardens and an orchard of old fruit trees. The building was made from light grey natural stone with a dark slate roof, and, with its two castellated towers either side, remotely resembled a small castle.

"Welcome to Ravencroft!" Samara exclaimed.

They proceeded until they stood in the gravelled front garden in front of the heavy double oak doors that formed the entrance to the house, framed by climbing ivy.

"Come in!" Samara said as she pushed open the wings of the door, and they walked through into the entrance hall. "Dinner is nearly ready, so why don't we sit down for a moment, and I'll get us a glass of wine?"

He took a seat on the sofa by the fireplace, while his eyes scanned his surroundings. Ravencroft was a stately wizarding home, but, unlike Malfoy Manor, it was light and friendly, and relatively unadorned. A stone staircase spiralled down to what must be the cellars, and another, wider one, led up to a gallery, which he suspected would lead to the bedrooms. The double-height room where he was sitting was flooded with light from large windows, throwing rectangles of sunlight onto the whitened oak floor. A few steps up was the dining area, where a mighty, rectangular table stood tastefully set for two people, with white chinaware, and a sparkling silver candelabra.

Samara re-appeared from the kitchen with two goblets of wine and handed him one. Behind her, a small elf, wearing a neatly ironed dress with a white apron, was now lighting the candles on the dinner table with a snip of her fingers.

"Professor, let me introduce you to my faithful old friend Trixie," Samara said, waving towards the house-elf.

"Esteemed Professor Snape!" the small elf squeaked, excitedly clutching her apron, her over-sized eyes blinking, and her large ears turning red. "Trixie is very honoured to have the pleasure of cooking for you."

He smiled amused. "The pleasure will be all mine, I'm sure."

They sat down at opposite ends of the table, and Trixie scurried into the kitchen to serve the food. She had made watercress soup, followed by roasted lamb, and elderflower ice cream with strawberries for dessert. Twinkle's cooking was excellent, as always, and Severus even found some words of praise.

After dinner, Samara stood up and said, "Let's go outside for a walk. I promised you I would show you a secret, the one I suspect may enable us to save Professor Dumbledore after all."

From the sitting room, French doors led to a gravelled garden area, where bushes of lavender and rosemary intermingled with a bay tree and other shrubs, and trellises with climbing roses and jasmine adorned the outside walls. The sun was already quite low, so that the light had softened. They strolled through the garden, and beyond into the fields of the orchard. Under a group of trees, Severus saw two black horses grazing. When they noticed the witch and the tall wizard, they raised their heads, and looked towards them attentively.

"Professor, these are Godric and Rowena."

"You gave them the names of Hogwarts founders?" He laughed.

"Yes, because one is very brave, and the other is very smart."

Severus walked up to the one closest to them, and stroked its neck, amazed at how soft the black coat felt.

Samara smiled. "They aren't ordinary horses, they are magical creatures. Have you ever ridden a horse? Fancy a nice evening ride?"

"I have never ridden anything other than a broom," he replied, "but I would be intrigued to give it a go."

"This is much better than brooms," Samara insisted. She had always been somewhat at odds with brooms. "Allright then, you take Godric."

Godric lowered his head, as if he had understood Samara's words, and gave the Potions Master a gentle nudge with his nose.

He climbed onto Godric's back with one swift movement. Samara had already mounted her horse, and the two proceeded to walk through the fields, and down the path that led to the beach. She wasn't used to riding in a little summer dress; it was a bit weird, but Rowena's soft coat felt nice against her naked legs. Severus was sitting confidently on Godric's back, as if he had never done anything else. His dexterity and balance were remarkable, she thought. The path descended down a fairly steep slope to a small sandy cove, surrounded by cliffs.

When they reached the beach she said, "Let's go a bit faster - shall we?"

"Here? There is hardly enough space," he replied, unconvinced.

She smiled secretively. "You'll see... Come on Rowena!"

Rowena set off towards the edge of the water, and when she reached the surf, she rose off the ground, and continued to gallop through the air just above the water's surface, out towards the open sea. Godric followed, and they galloped side by side into the endless open. Samara looked at Severus, and smiled inwardly at the stunned look on his face.

"I told you they are magical!" she cried through the wind.

The horses were now racing each other, rising up higher into the air, only to descend again, just skimming the surface of the ocean, and causing the water to splash up around them.

"Woohoo!" Samara cried in exhilaration.

Severus appeared to be thoroughly enjoying himself; the hint of a smile played around his mouth, and his eyes seemed to sparkle. Soon, the sun was beginning to sink into the ocean, dipping everything into an orange light, and sending a golden, glittering sparkle over the ocean. Samara breathed in the salty air, spread her arms wide like wings, and sighed; this was bliss. The horses finally slowed down, and fell into a steady canter. Their hooves just occasionally touching the surface of the water, they were heading back to the beach.

She watched him as he was riding in front of her. He sat relaxed, following Godric's movements, his black hair ruffled by the wind, bouncing up and down. His wet shirt clung to his sinewy body, betraying the outline of his shoulder muscles. When he turned his head and looked at her, she saw an expression on his face she had never seen before. He smiled, and, for the first time, the smile reached his eyes.

The sun had all but gone, when the horses reached the beach, and climbed up the steep slope to the top of the cliffs.

When they reached the edge of the fields, Severus jumped off and patted Godric. Samara felt dizzy with excitement. She slid down Rowena's back, and staggered, nearly loosing her balance. He caught her, and for a moment his hands were resting on her waist. The sensation of his warm grip through the thin fabric of her dress sent tingling bolts through her body, and made her pelvic muscles contract involuntarily. She didn't dare to look up into his eyes, for fear of what he would see there. She felt the small bulge of his biceps underneath his shirt where her hand rested, and willed herself not to stroke up along his arm. Way too quickly, he let go of her waist.

"Now enlighten me, while most enjoyable indeed, what has this got to do with Dumbledore's treatment?" he asked, his voice showing nothing but academic interest.

They started to stroll back towards the orchard, and the two horses trotted off into the distance.

"These creatures are Ipterippi," Samara explained, "members of the magical species _Equus ipterippus_, closely related to the Unicorn, the Thestral, and the Muggle horse, of course. They have long been believed extinct, but I think they are just very good at hiding from humans. They were hunted and killed by wizards in the Middle Ages, you know, because their precious coat was used to make the finest invisibility cloaks. I doubt it has ever been tried, but their blood could work in a similar way to unicorn blood, and I'm sure Godric would happily donate a little. It may not remove the curse completely, but it should be more effective than anything we have so far, and buy us a lot more time."

Severus knew intuitively that it was a very sound suggestion; he was almost convinced it would work. It was a very happy thought; perhaps he would not have to kill him after all.

"A very good idea indeed. It is fortunate that we decided to prepare three different potions. I believe the one containing black Moonstone will be the most suitable."

Samara nodded. "Yes, I think so, too." She laughed. "For once we agree on something!"

"It must be a good sign then. At the next full moon we will find out."

They continued to walk in silence. By now, the trees were only dark shapes against the purple sky of dusk. It was only two days after the full moon, and the silvery disk was rising like a large round mirror above the forest. A light breeze ruffled through Samara's dress and hair, and occasionally a bat tumbled through the air above their heads. The windows of the house glowed in the distance with a warm light.

She had never seen him so relaxed and seemingly happy. The features of his face seemed softer, while his eyes were alive with a warm fire.

When they were close to the gardens, Samara made to sit down in the grass underneath one of the old apple trees, and Severus sat down next to her, leaning his back against the gnarled trunk. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the owls hooting through the night. Her skin glowed ivory in the moonlight as she plucked a blade of grass, absent-mindedly tying a knot into it.

"So these horses...Ipterippi, I mean, have they always lived here?" he asked after a while.

Samara shook her head. "No, I found them."

"Found them?"

"It's a long story."

"I'm in no hurry."

Samara hesitated.

"Well, after I graduated from Hogwarts, I went travelling with my boy-friend at the time, one of my Hufflepuff class mates. It was the year after Voldemort disappeared. The plan was to go camping in Sweden, and gather interesting plants in the wild. Unfortunately, he soon got bored with me. All the time, I wanted to try out a potion with some plant I had found, and he had imagined something more fun. So in the end, we broke up, and I decided to continue the trip on my own. One night camping in a forest, I was awakened by a beautiful black horse that was snorting and rummaging outside my tent. I had never seen such a beautiful creature before. His coat was so black that it seemed to swallow all light, and when I touched him it felt like the softest velvet. His gentle eyes were wise and knowing. After a while, he turned away, and started to walk into the wood. Then he stopped, and turned back to look at me, as if he wanted me to follow. He led me through the forest for what seemed like an eternity, and I was starting to get worried that I would never find back. Then, suddenly, we arrived at a clearing, where I saw another horse, a mare, standing in the moonlight. She was badly injured. Her foreleg was bleeding and torn up; she was standing on three legs unable to walk. I realised that he had brought me there to help his companion. I didn't know much about healing then, but I found some moss and herbs I could use, and I knew how to perform a simple healing spell. I didn't leave the horses for several days, until the injury had healed. During those days, I soon realised that they were not ordinary horses, but some sort of magical creatures I had never heard of. Soon they allowed me to ride them, and I discovered that not only could they fly, they were also invisible to Muggles and wizards when airborne. They became my friends. When I returned to Ravencroft, I took them with me. I read every book on magical creatures I could find, trying to understand what these horses were, and finally found something in an old book. The winged horse Pegasus in Greek legend is said to have been an Ipterripus, although, in reality, they don't need wings."

Samara paused, twisting the grass blade into a pretzel shape.

"So you saved these creatures, you're protecting them from extinction," he remarked.

"No, they saved me."

Neither of them spoke for a while as they watched a pair of badgers bumble through the grass, and disappear into the forest.

"I'm a half-blood, too, you know," Samara suddenly broke the silence.

"That makes no difference," He replied, giving her a questioning look.

"No, but everything else does." She sighed.

Severus said nothing. He sensed that she finally wanted to talk about her past.

After another long silence, Samara started again. "My father was from a pureblood wizard family, the ancient clan of Ravenhood. Not that he cared about blood status - the Ravenhood family had always been Muggle friendly. And so it was not an issue that my father married a Muggle-born. My mother was an amazing woman, a healer, whom my father met through his course of work. My father worked at the Department for Magical Maladies, and was quite influential at the ministry. My mother introduced all the comforts of modern Muggle society to the old family house, but with a magical twist. We had a magical washing machine, for example. Her dad, my grandfather, was a Muggle doctor, and my mother was passionate about trying to introduce some of the achievements of modern Muggle medicine at St. Mungo's. Of course, she met with a lot of resistance. She always said that wizardkind would be much better off, if they were a little more open-minded. She also ensured that my younger brother and I received a solid home-education in Muggle subjects, before we would go to Hogwarts to start our wizard education. We had a very happy childhood here at Ravencroft. Being so secluded, and far away from London, my parents felt safe here, even when Voldemort gained more and more power."

She sighed again. "One day, during my fifth year at Hogwarts, my mother was summoned to the Ministry to stand trial for using magic, and being a Muggle impostor. My father did not let her attend, saying they would send her to Azkaban. He tried to use his connections at the Ministry to get them to drop the charges. Then one night, a group of Death Eaters turned up at Ravencroft, trying to take away my mum. My parents fought to the last. The Death Eaters killed them all, my mother, my father, and my little brother, all of them. Their bodies were never found. Then they blew up the house, and burned it down, but not until after they had looted it, and taken all the valuables and artefacts they could find, including my mothers ring, the ring that somehow ended up in your hands." She shot a probing and uncomfortable look at him.

"I was at Hogwarts at the time, and when I heard, I was in complete shock. Unable to cry or grasp the magnitude of what had happened, I was in denial for a long time. And I couldn't face returning to the ruins of Ravencroft until years later. As I was orphaned, Hogwarts became my home, where I stayed with my godmother, Mme Pomfrey. When I finally did return to Devon with Rowena and Godric, there was hardly anything left of the house except for a large pile of stones. But the horses seemed to feel immediately at home in the fields and orchard. They knew they were safe here. The happiest surprise was that Trixie, our house-elf, had survived, and lived amongst the rubble all those years, waiting for me to come back. I was moved to tears when I saw her. Together, we started rebuilding the house. We used a lot of magic, but I also ended up spending my entire inheritance on the reconstruction. So I had to get a job, and went to London to work as potions trainee at St. Mungo's. As my mother had worked there, and was well liked, they offered me the position, even though all I had done since graduation was drifting about, and I had forgotten half of what I learned for my NEWTs."

She paused, and, after a moment of silence, went on, "My little brother was only ten, he didn't even have a wand yet. Who kills an innocent child, I ask you? I always wonder what would have become of him, if he had been allowed the chance to grow up. He loved Quidditch... He was so much looking forward to coming to Hogwarts... He would be twenty-eight now... I miss him so much, all of them." Her voice sounded shaky now.

"Severus, there is one thing I must know," she said, looking at him with searching eyes, "Were you there the night the Death Eaters attacked Ravencroft? Did you -" She couldn't bring herself to finish the question.

Severus saw tears glittering in her eyes, and the blade of grass in her hand was trembling. He felt as though he was going to drown in the blue depth of her eyes. His heart felt heavier than stone; no doubt he was going to sink straight to the bottom.

"No, I was not there that night," he replied slowly. "And I was not involved in the deaths of your family." He fell silent; the weight on his chest was unbearable. He had a pretty good idea as to who had killed the Ravenhoods.

"Have you ever killed someone?" Her voice sounded hoarse. The silence that followed was uncomfortable, and filled with dark foreboding as he was trying to find the right words.

"If by killing you mean pointing my wand at someone's heart, and speaking those terrible words - No, I have not. Yet, I contributed to the death of more than one person, in other ways - by providing the Dark Lord with information, by being a silent bystander. Assisting murderers is no better than committing murder yourself."

She still seemed relieved at his answer. A sob left her chest, causing her eyes to finally overflow, and the tears to roll down her cheeks. He moved closer, and put his arm around her, drawing her into his embrace. His other hand gently stroked over her hair. Her breathing slowed, while the sobs subsided. She felt surrounded by the soothing warmth of his body, inhaling his scent deep into her lungs. He gently pulled her head back, and wiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb.

"You look very beautiful tonight." His voice was as soft as black velvet.

When she looked up into his eyes, she felt like she was tumbling into the blackness. She could not resist any longer. Slinging her arms around his shoulders, she brought her face closer to his, and brushed a light kiss against his lips.

He remained immobile, surprise showing on his face, while his eyes fixed her with a questioning gaze. Samara immediately regretted her boldness, bracing herself for the rejection that would surely follow. But instead, he suddenly pulled her closer, and kissed her back, hungrily, desperately. Samara's breath caught. For a moment, it was as if she were paralysed, before she opened her mouth to accept his warm tongue, while his hands around her head were holding her still. Her blood was thundering in her ears as she responded to his unspoken demand and their tongues entwined.

His hand moved from her face, lightly stroking down along her spine, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Samara closed her eyes and savoured the sensation. She had waited for this moment so long, everything else was forgotten now. When they finally broke their kiss, they remained silent, looking into each others eyes, each trying to read the other's thoughts. Severus' hand brushed down her naked arm, caressing her skin with his fingertips. Feeling the little goose bumps on her arm, he said softly, "It's getting cold, let's go inside."

He rose slowly and stretched out a hand to help her up. She never let go of his hand as they walked back to the house.


	9. Found And Lost

A fire was lit in the sitting room, filling it with a warm glow, and a tray with two glasses and a bottle of Firewhisky had been left on the dining table.

"Would you like a drink?"

Severus affirmed with a nod.

Samara poured two glasses, and handed one to him. He took a long sip, before setting down the glass and moving closer. He took her by the waist, and lifted her up to sit on the table, bringing her to eye level with him. His eyes were smouldering like black coals, holding her captive, as he traced the line of her jaw with the tip of his finger. His face was so close to hers, she could smell the Firewhisky on his breath. Then he kissed her again, slowly and tenderly this time, gently exploring her mouth with his. His left arm was wrapped around her, his hand in her hair, while the other hand had slipped under the hem of her dress, and was stroking the inside of her thigh. Samara closed her eyes, and surrendered herself to his touch as he slowly moved higher. It was pure bliss. When he reached the apex of her legs, and his thumb brushed against the fabric of her underwear, the pleasure was so intense, she let out a small cry. He stopped, and looked her in the eyes.

"Are you sure you want to do this? If you're not, I should leave now. For if I stay, there will be no stopping, we will go all the way."

Her head was spinning with the unbearable anticipation of what was about to happen, as she let the meaning of his words sink in, savouring the promise, the menace, they contained.

"Yes," she breathed, "stay."

Her glass was shaking in her hand, and he took it from her to set it aside. "Then lets go up to your bedroom," he whispered close to her ear, his warm breath on her neck making her shiver.

He swept her off the table and, carried her up the stairs to her room. There, he set her down on the large four-poster bed, and lit the candles on the dressing table with a casual flick of his wand. Soft flickering light filled the room as he put his wand down.

Samara got up to stand before him, and then they embraced, hungrily, unable to get close enough, their hands searching. She had fantasised about this so much, but now it was actually happening for real, he was so close, hers to touch. He grabbed her firmly around the waist, pulling her closer against his pelvis. She could feel his arousal hard against her through the fabric of his trousers. Desire was throbbing deep in her abdomen as she realised how much he wanted her.

Filled with longing to feel his body, she started to unbutton his shirt. She ran her hands all over his torso, feeling the shape of his pectoral muscles, caressing the spray of black hair on his chest, rubbing her thumbs across his small male nipples. She loved the way his body felt under her questing hands, the masculine smell wafting off his skin.

He undid the zipper in the back of her dress, and brushed the straps off her shoulders so that the dress fell to her feet. Then he unhooked her bra with nimble fingers, and let it drop to the floor. His eyes rested on her as she stood before him nearly naked, taking in every curve of her body. She felt a little self-conscious, being so exposed before him. But when his hands stroked across the outline of her ribs, and upwards again to cup her breasts, any such thoughts evaporated under his gentle, almost reverent touch. Aroused, she dropped her head back, offering her neck to his lips, and as he brushed a trail of kisses down to her collarbone, she sighed with pleasure.

He shrugged off his shirt, and removed his trousers and briefs, affording her the full view of his erection. She reached down, curling her fingers around his manhood, marvelling at the incredibly delicate skin. He drew in a sharp breath, but then took hold of her wrist with firm grip and pulled her away. For a moment, she was worried that she had done something wrong.

"Too much..." he whispered.

Still holding on to her wrist, he walked her backwards toward the bed, and pushed her onto it.

She admired the sight of his naked body, lean and sinewy, the toned muscles covering his frame under the pale skin. She had so often wondered what he looked like under those layers of heavy black fabric, and she was not disappointed. Her eyes fell onto a dark shadow on his left forearm, resembling a faded tattoo. A cold shiver went through her as she realised what it was, but she had no time to ponder on it, as now he was removing her underwear, the last bastion of her modesty, and settled next to her on the bed. His hand trailed down along her cleavage, across her stomach, and between her legs. She was aching for his touch. Time seemed to stand still, while the world around her disappeared, as she abandoned herself to the delicate touch of his fingers exploring her most private area. He knew what he was doing. This was very different from the clumsy fumbling of a teenage boy, or the uninspired thumping of a one-night-stand born out of desperation. He slipped one finger into her, making her gasp with shock at the sudden invasion.

"You are so wet... Are you ready to take me inside you?"

So this was it, the ultimate intimacy - he was going to make love to her. It was all happening so quickly, the last barrier between them about to fall, and she was both incredibly aroused and a little apprehensive. Her body was tingling all over. She arched against him, and spread her thighs in response. Yes, she wanted him, trusted him. The sight of his rugged features in the candlelight, his black hair flopping onto the broad expanse of his shoulders as he braced over her, was incredibly attractive. She tensed a little as she felt him nudge against her, but moaned with pleasure when he slowly pushed into her, stretching her muscles to accommodate him.

For a moment, he remained still, allowing her to relish the delicious sensation of penetration, feeling his stiff member sheathed all the way inside her. His eyes were locked into hers, and she submerged herself in those black pools, sensing the deep connection between them. A deep groan escaped his chest, and he momentarily closed his eyes, when she squeezed her pelvic muscles around him. He took it as his cue to start moving inside her, picking up a slow rhythm. Her hands caressed his neck and back, exploring the valley between his shoulder blades. She just loved that part of male anatomy, and let her hands follow the narrowing line of his back down to his firm buttocks. Each thrust sent pulses of pleasure through her body, growing ever more intense, while her need for him was getting more and more desperate.

Their breathing grew heavier and ragged as his strokes came harder and faster, and she raised her hips to meet him, hungrily, greedily. Before long, Samara could feel herself on the edge of an orgasm. Her hands gripped around his waist, and she pulled herself towards him, enraptured, digging her fingers into the muscles of his back in anticipation. Then the contractions shook her body as a wave of pleasure washed over her. Severus paused for a moment, watching her convulse underneath him. His face pulled into a grimace, and his eyes rolled back as he went full and deep one last time. She felt the quiver as he spent himself inside her, and collapsed onto her with a deep moan.

"Samara..."

He cupped her head in his hands as their mouths met in a long tender kiss, and they continued to lie in each others arms for a while.

Years of hunger and longing were not easily satisfied, however, and soon they made love again, this time slower, and taking more time to explore, before finally lying next to each other exhausted. Happy and completely spent, they fell asleep.

* * *

When Severus awoke hours later, dawn was breaking outside, and the song of a myriad of birds could be heard from the garden. Samara was still lying asleep on her belly, her face dug into the pillow, and partly obscured by her hair, her breathing quiet and regular. He got up quietly, careful not to wake her, and picked his clothes off the floor. Then he gently pulled the blanket over her and got dressed. He paused, and looked at her for a moment. As he recalled the blissful hours of the night before his heart filled with tenderness. He could so easily fall in love with this woman, and the realisation scared him. He had to gain control of his feelings, clear his thoughts, get a grip.

Severus pulled himself away from the bed, soundlessly sneaked out of the room, and walked down the stairs into the sitting room. The fire had gone out, so that the room was filled only with the dim light of dawn. He stopped in front of the glass doors leading to the garden, and looked out into the early morning, watching a black-bird hopping about in the grass, looking for food.

The reality of his life hit him like a cold dagger in the chest – The Dark Lord, Death-Eater gatherings, the Unbreakable Vow he had made, his promise to Dumbledore, his cursed past. How could he have been so foolish, so irresponsible, to let down his guard, and give into his desire? Years of celibacy had taken their toll, no doubt. He had not been touched by a woman for so long, and her shy kiss had made him lose control.

But it was dangerous; he must not allow it to happen again. He knew instinctively that, despite his Occlumency skills, he would not be able to conceal such strong feelings from the Dark Lord. What if the Dark Lord grew suspicious, if he found out that Severus was attached to someone, someone on the opposite side? He would doubt his loyalty, and then neither he nor Samara would be safe, his mission jeopardized.

He knew that, whichever way things turned, he was a doomed man. He would only end up pulling her down with him; there could be no happy ever after for them. He had to close his heart, forget all about last night and Samara, or he might once more bring death to someone he cared for.

At this thought, bitterness and pain seared through his heart like spears of fire. He gasped, and had to steady himself with one hand against the mantelpiece, fighting the hot tears that threatened to swell in his eyes. He wanted to smash his fist at something to relieve the frustration, the blind anger at being so powerless, unable to change his own fate, a puppet in some grand scheme.

He had never shirked from his responsibility, had never complained about the dangerous mission Dumbledore had entrusted him with, had never repined about the cruel hand that fate had dealt him. He knew he deserved every bit of it. But now, all of that was not sufficient atonement for the bad choices he had made as a young man. It had just been made worse by giving him a glimpse of what might have been. And although he knew it was unfair, he felt angry with Samara, angry for making it so hard to continue along the path he had chosen, angry for making it so difficult for him to die, when before he had relished the thought of redeeming himself by giving his life, to protect Lily's son, or to help bring down her murderer.

He should never have allowed things to get this far. Now it would be awkward and difficult to continue the friendship he had come to value so much, and he could hardly avoid hurting her feelings.

Severus was pulled out of his thoughts by Samara, who had just walked down the stairs, dressed in blue silk pyjamas, and greeted him chirpily.

"There you are, Severus, I was wondering where you had gone. Fancy some breakfast?"

"Good morning, Miss Ravenhood, I appreciate the offer, but I should leave straight away."

Samara looked at him with disbelief written all over her face.

"Why? It's Sunday! And what is that supposed to mean - Miss Ravenhood? I thought I heard you call me by my first name last night."

"Last night means nothing and changes nothing, and in any case it is not to be repeated. You will forget it ever happened," he said coldly.

"What do you mean – it means nothing? So you just used me?" she replied, an incredulous look on her face.

"Used you?" he snapped, his eyes glittering with annoyance. "Now let's be clear about one thing – during the entire evening you were trying to seduce me, and you got exactly what you wanted."

"No! That's not what I wanted. I wanted your love, just as I am offering you mine." Her voice was almost a whisper as she seemed to be fighting down the tears.

"You are confusing love with lust, Miss Ravenhood. True love is sacrifice. If that's what you want, you could start by not making a scene; it would be better that way for both of us."

He summoned his cloak.

"Severus - No! Wait! I don't understand."

She grabbed his arm, and tried to hold him back.

"Precisely which bit do you not understand?" he spat, anger flashing in his eyes as he wrenched himself free. "I have no desire to hurt your pride, or your feelings, Miss Ravenhood, so don't force me to make myself even clearer."

He pinched some floo powder from the jar on the mantelpiece, stepped into the fireplace, and disappeared in a burst of green flames.

"Severus!" She shouted after him, tears swelling in her eyes.

'You are confusing love with lust.' Those words hurt. She could hardly breathe as she felt something in her chest contract into painful spasm.

How could he make love to her all night, only to reject her so cruelly the next morning? Was that it? Had she only been an evening's diversion? It had felt so real, so good. It was hard to believe that it had meant nothing to him.

Her knees gave way, and she sank down on the floor, doubled over, her hands shaking, her chest heaving, and finally broke into violent sobs, as hot tears rolled over her face.


	10. Leap Of Faith

As always, Samara had drowned her sorrow by throwing herself into work, staying at the hospital late every evening. The only thing she could not get herself to work on now was the Cruciatus potion. When she was at home, she sat on the sofa, and stared into the fireplace gloomily, just like now, on this Saturday evening. Trixie had tried all sorts to cheer her up, cooking her favourite meals, tempting her with sweets, putting fresh flowers in her room - but to no avail.

Nearly three weeks had passed, and Samara had not heard anything from Snape. Her pride had stopped her from contacting him. No, he had to make the first move now. In only a few days it would be full moon again, when they were supposed to finish Dumbledore's medicine, and he could hardly do it alone.

Her eyes fell onto the weekend copy of the Daily Prophet, which her owl had dropped onto the coffee table. The words '_Dumbledore Murdered!'_ where shouting at her from the front page in oversized letters. Surely, that couldn't be true… Samara took the paper, and started to read the article. Her eyes started swimming as she hastily skimmed over the story.

It couldn't be! According to the article, Severus had killed Dumbledore at Hogwarts, in front of the very eyes of Harry Potter, by casting _Avada Kedavra_, before fleeing from the castle with a group of Death Eaters. The Ministry's Aurors were looking for him everywhere, but had no idea where he was. The wizarding population was asked to keep their eyes open, and report any clues that could lead to Snape's arrest without delay.

Samara was unsure what to think. The Daily Prophet was not renowned for accuracy of reporting, but to make up such a story seemed unbelievable even by its standards. Well, there was one way to find out - she could write to Poppy. She went to her desk, took a piece of parchment and a quill, and wrote:

_Dear Poppy, _

_I read the terrible news in the Daily Prophet. Please tell me it is not true._

_Yours truly, Samara_

She rolled up the parchment, and rushed up to the owlery at the top of the East Tower. Her owl, Snowy, blinked at her in surprise; it was rare that Samara wrote a letter to anybody at all. Snowy held out a leg for Samara to fix the message to, and took off into the darkness.

***

Severus Snape stood by the window in his bedroom at Spinner's End, careful to stay behind the curtains to conceal his presence from any passers-by. It was a typical summer's day for the north of England, nothing but rain. Looking down onto the deserted street, where puddles of rain glistened under the heavy grey sky, he wondered if this precaution was necessary, how safe the house was. Spinner's End was a Muggle property, not a wizarding home; surely the Ministry was not aware of it. Only a handful of people knew where he lived; one of them was dead, the rest off them were Death Eaters - and Samara, although she would not know where the house was located, having travelled there by Portkey. But he had to be ever so careful, ever so careful... If he was caught, it was unthinkable.... He doubted they would even give him a trial, it would be a Dementor's kiss, no questions asked. If anyone approached the house, he would have to Disapparate immediately, he couldn't take any chances. And yet, he was glad that he could be here for the time being, glad he could get away for a while from Malfoy Manor and the other Death Eaters, to be alone with his thoughts and his pain.

Did Dumbledore have any idea just what he had asked of him? To become a murderer, the wizarding world's most hated, most despised member? He wondered what Minerva was thinking of him now. It had taken so long to win her respect, so long for her to accept that he was truly on their side. Or Filius - he preferred not to know what he would do to him if he ever got his hands on him now. Or Poppy, who had looked after him in almost motherly fashion, on a few occasions when he'd returned from a Death Eater meeting, worse for wear. All that, the respect and trust of his colleagues, his allies, which he had worked so hard to earn, all lost in an instant.

Now he was on the run, an outcast, in mortal danger anywhere he went, just like Sirius Black had been. He jerked his head as if to rid himself of that thought, like an irksome fly.

Dumbledore... He still couldn't fully accept the fact that he was gone forever, vanished, dead by his own hand, by those dreadful words from his own lips, those words he never, ever, wanted to pronounce. And yet, it had been so easy, a simple incantation, focusing his mind on feelings of spite and hate, something that cost him little effort, a flash of green light... Tears welled in his eyes, and he made no effort to restrain them. He would miss the old man sorely, the only person who truly understood his twisted mind, and still seemed to esteem him, the wizard whom he had respected above all others in the world, and whose authority he had been able to accept without question.

Severus felt lonely, much lonelier than ever. He was used to it up to a point, but this was so much worse. The thought that he would go from this world, remembered only as a murderer, a traitor, without a single soul knowing his true motivation, his true allegiance, the only man who did know dead, it pained him more than he would have imagined. And there was one person, one woman, whom he longed to tell the truth more than any other, whose sympathy would have meant the world to him. But he had blown it, again.

He felt uncomfortable, recalling the last conversation with Samara in the lounge at Ravencroft. His words had come out much harsher than he had intended. How was it possible that he, who could slice his enemies to pieces with precise, calculated irony, never seemed to be able to find the right words when it truly mattered? Those words were enough to make her hate him, how much more would she detest him now, when she found out what he had done? And yet, he just had to speak to her, and a plan was starting to form in his head.

He sat down at the wobbly little desk, and rummaged through the drawers, looking for a piece of parchment amongst the old Potions essays. Grabbing a tattered quill and a bottle of nearly dried-up ink, he started to scribble a note.

Once finished, he sneaked out to the patio, carefully checking that nobody was watching, and took his small black owl out of its cage. The bird looked at him resentfully, no doubt bemoaning its fate for making it serve such a neglectful owner, but relieved nonetheless that it was finally let out of its prison. He tied the roll of parchment to its leg, being bitten by the disgruntled creature in the process, and cursing it under his breath, before allowing it to take off, and watching it soar up into the sky.

Back inside, he sat down on the sofa in the dark living room, resting his face in his hands, and listened to the sound of the wind soughing down the chimney. Even though he was extremely tired, he wouldn't allow himself to sleep. He had put powerful alerts around the house, but you could never be too careful. Considering his letter, he ran through all the possibilities. The first one, highly implausible, would be for Samara to come and meet him alone, as he had asked her to. The second, far more likely, would be for her not to come at all. The third one was what really worried him, for her to alert the Ministry, and them setting him a trap. He couldn't risk that, not only for his own sake, but for Dumbledore, for what he had promised him.

An idea came to his mind, although it was crazy, no doubt. Could he really hope to win back her trust if he tried to kidnap her? But, on the other hand, he had to make sure he got Samara alone, and he could not think of any other way.

There was a fourth possibility of course; the wretched bird could just get rid of the letter and disappear, and Severus couldn't even have blamed it.

***

The next morning at breakfast, as Samara half-heartedly poked around her bowl of porridge, Snowy was already back with Poppy's reply. Samara hastily unrolled the parchment and read:

_Dear Samara,_

_Yes, unfortunately the Daily Prophet is not exaggerating this time. We are all in shock, can't believe that Albus is gone. No one will ever be able to replace him. I still can't believe that Severus betrayed us all like this. Albus trusted him unconditionally, never let anything bad be said about him. And Harry witnessed it all, the poor boy. _

_Yours cordially, Poppy_

_PS: It would be nice if you could come to attend the funeral._

Samara was stunned. Albus Dumbledore was dead. It was difficult to grasp the enormity of that fact. Never again would she see the old wizard, who had been so kind to her when her family was killed. Never again would he look at her with twinkling eyes, dispensing his infinite wisdom. The wizarding world had lost its greatest hope of ever defeating Voldemort. And as if all this wasn't bad enough, his murderer was the very man who had been working with her for months, seemingly caring about nothing more than to save the headmaster's life, the man she loved and as much as she wanted to, still could not stop loving.

They had been so close to saving Dumbledore, a cure for him had been only days away. How was it possible, how could she have been so wrong - she, who rarely erred in her assessment of people. How could Snape have been so cunning, so ruthless, so false? She had never felt so betrayed.

Samara spent the morning with the horses in the field, crying her eyes out. While nothing could console her, their company was soothing at least. Suddenly, a black owl that Samara had never seen before swooped over her head, and dropped a small parchment into her hand. As Samara opened it she immediately recognised Snape's characteristic scribble. Her heart was beating up to her throat as she read:

_Samara,_

_I know what you must be thinking, but things are not what they seem. Please allow me to explain. Meet me in the usual place outside Ravencroft this Sunday at 6 o'clock. You __must __come alone, __you must tell no-one__. Please trust me._

_Yours, _

_Severus_

She didn't know what to think. Could there be an explanation? Could it be that Severus was innocent? What was it that he wanted to explain? After all Harry had seen him do it…. What if this was a trap? What if Snape wanted to ingratiate himself further with Voldemort by getting another opponent out of the way? What if he tried to Disapparate with Samara straight to Death Eater headquarters? What if he wanted to kill her? She didn't have a lot of time to make up her mind, the proposed meeting was only hours away. Samara wished she could have asked someone for advice, but Snape was now the wizarding world's most wanted criminal, and if he was caught there would be no less than a Dementor's kiss waiting for him. The mere thought made her shudder; she was not prepared to give him away.

Samara was debating the question all afternoon, unable to come to a decision. When it was a quarter to six, she couldn't resist the temptation of seeing Severus again, seduced by the possibility that all could turn out well, telling herself that Severus wasn't a cold-blooded killer. But she had to take precautions, she would take along Rowena. The intelligent mare would be able to sense whether Snape's intentions were sincere. She could make herself invisible and protect her if necessary.

There was no need to explain the matter to Rowena, as usual, she already understood. She followed closely behind as Samara walked into the forest. It was a grey and misty day and the forest had something spooky about it, as if danger were lurking behind every trunk. When they approached the fork in the paths, Rowena's feet no longer touched the ground, and she could be neither seen nor heard.

When they stopped at the meeting place, Snape was nowhere to be seen. Samara was starting to feel uneasy, and took her wand out of her pocket. It was foolish to come here. She stood no chance against him should it come to a duel. And Rowena was only a horse. She was about to turn around, and run back to the safety of Ravencroft when Snape's black-cloaked figure suddenly stepped out from behind a tree. He fixed her with fathomless eyes, his face betraying no thought or emotion, his posture emanating power and determination.

Before Samara could move, her wand was thrust out of her hand, and Snape caught it neatly out of the air. A fraction of a second later, he was beside her, his hand clenched around her wrist firm and inexorable like steel. He jerked her towards him and pressed her against his body so hard that she could hardly breathe. She tried to scream, but there was no air in her lungs and no one to hear her anyway. She could feel the unmistakeable tug in her stomach. No! She was terrified. She must not let him Disapparate with her to somewhere out of her control. Where was Rowena, why was she not helping her?

She struggled and writhed about as hard as she could, but the tugging got harder. She was fighting a battle of wills against Snape, concentrating all her power on resisting him, planting her feet firmly onto the ground. She could sense his overwhelming power, and though she managed to resist for a few moments, he was stronger, and unlike her, he had a wand. She felt her feet leave the ground, felt the familiar pressure in her ears as they Disapparated. A split second later, Samara found herself in a place she did not recognise. They were by the sea, at the top of a cliff. She felt grass under her feet, and to her left was a steep precipice leading many metres down to the edge of the ocean. Snape was still holding on to her with an iron grip that didn't allow her to move. His eyes were flashing dangerously from between narrow slits.

"Did you come alone as I told you? Look at me!" he hissed at her.

The hand that had been clenched around her wrist now grabbed hold of her hair and forced her to look him in the eyes. His black pupils bored into hers without remorse. Samara realised what he was about to do. She wanted to look away, but couldn't, as if she were hypnotised by his gaze. She tried to picture a black curtain, tried to completely empty her mind. But the images swam up in front of her inner eye, and she couldn't help it. The image of Rowena and her walking through the forest, and she knew that Snape could see it, too. She gathered all her mental strength to pull away from his gaze.

At that moment, Snape suddenly released her. She staggered, but quickly regained her balance. Without losing a second, and before he could do anything to stop her, she had taken two big leaps toward the edge of the cliff, and jumped into the depth, beyond his reach.

"Samara- No!" she heard him cry behind her.

She spread her arms wide, the wind caught underneath her cloak, and she gracefully sailed down towards the narrow strip of pebbly beach at the bottom. Never before had Samara felt more grateful for the gravity-defying properties of Ipterripus' tail hair, which Trixie had woven into the lining of her cloak. Once she reached the ground, she focused her mind for a second, and Disapparated back to the place in the woods where she had left Rowena.

The mare was still waiting in the same spot. Samara ran towards her, and jumped on her back.

"Quick, Rowena, get us out of here, he will be back any moment!" she panted.

It wouldn't take Snape long to realise that she wasn't dead. Her heart was racing. But the mare did not move; she just snorted and shook her head. At that moment, Snape Apparated only metres from them with a soft pop.

"Rowena, hurry, please!" Samara squealed, terrified, desperate to get back to the safety of Ravencroft and its protective spells.

"Your equine friend has far more sense than you have," he sneered and held out her wand towards her. "I think you may want this back."

Samara was looking at him in disbelief, but slowly it dawned on her. Did Rowena know Snape meant no harm? Was that the reason why she had refused to leave?

"Please, Samara, will you listen to me."

"You killed him! You -"

"I don't deny it. But don't you want to understand why?"

Samara looked at him, torn between hope and fear.

"Let's go somewhere safe and I will explain." His eyes were pleading. "Samara, please trust me."

Rowena took the decision on behalf of her, and started to walk back towards Ravencroft, turning to look back at Snape as if inviting him to follow them.


	11. No More Secrets

Severus and Samara walked down to the beach in silence. The mist had cleared a little by the ocean, and Samara sat down on a rocky platform, looking out to the sea, which glittered quietly in the grey light of the early evening. Severus sat down next to her, and for a while, neither of them knew how to break the silence.

"I'm sorry if I scared you. I feared you might try to turn me in."

"Of course you scared me. But since when do you care about my feelings?" she replied, bitterly.

He looked down, embarrassed, staring at his hands.

"I need answers this time, if I'm to trust you again, Severus. All of them"

Severus hesitated, unsure where to start. He knew this wouldn't be easy.

"It was Dumbledore's wish that I should kill him."

"What? Why would he want you to kill him?"

"After the accident with the ring he knew he would die soon, and he made me promise that I would help him to a quick and easy death."

"But we were only days away from having a cure! He didn't have to die!"

Severus nodded. "I told him I was no longer willing to do it, but he tried to hold me to my promise. And then something else happened."

"Something else?"

"Dumbledore had gone away on some sort of mission with Potter, and while he was away, the Death Eaters broke into Hogwarts. When they returned, Dumbledore was dying. Samara, I had only seconds to decide – we were surrounded by Death Eaters, Dumbledore was in agony, in unbearable pain. He was pleading with me to end it. What was I supposed to do?"

"How about stunning the Death Eaters, and taking him to St. Mungo's?" she replied, unconvinced.

Severus shook his head.

"Nobody could have saved him. He drank poison, and a very dark and evil one at that. He had never before allowed me to see into his mind, but at that moment, I could read it in his eyes. He knew what he was doing, he sacrificed himself."

"Sacrificed – for what?"

"For me, he gave his life for mine."

Samara didn't understand. Seeing the confusion on her face, he sighed, a sigh so heavy with sorrow, she knew it was hard for him to explain. Nevertheless he tried.

"I made a vow, Samara, an Unbreakable Vow. The Dark Lord had set young Draco Malfoy the task of murdering Dumbledore, a task at which he could not succeed. His mother asked me to protect him, and do the deed should Draco fail."

"Draco Malfoy? You mean the son of that Malfoy?"

"Yes. But he is only a boy…"

"Why did you have to make an Unbreakable Vow though?"

"I was backed into a corner, and I had already promised Dumbledore the same. From that moment, it was him or me. Still, I was going to die rather than murder Dumbledore. He knew that, so he presented me with a fait accompli."

His black eyes were glittering, he was fighting down tears. Samara reached out, and put her hand on his arm.

"He was like a father to me. He believed in me, he gave me a chance when nobody else would have done... He died for me…"

His voice was hoarse, and then as a single sob escaped his chest, his eyes overflowed and a tear rolled down his cheek. He averted his face to wipe it away, embarrassed that she should see him cry.

Samara looked at him piercingly. "Severus, why did you become a Death Eater?"

For a long time, he said nothing, and just stared out to the sea. He didn't look at her when he finally replied.

"I was young and angry, and my heart was poisoned."

"The girl you wanted to ask to the Yule Ball?" Samara asked tentatively.

He turned and looked at her, surprised. How could she have guessed? He nodded slowly.

"I loved her from the day I first saw her - on the playground near where I grew up. We became friends. Later she started dating someone else. And not just anyone, she went out with the fellow who, from my first day at Hogwarts, had bullied, and taunted, and humiliated me. Our friendship went to pieces. I was blinded by hatred for him. I yearned for revenge, for recognition, and the only people I could still call friends were supporters of the Dark Lord.

"It was stupid of course, and I don't expect you to understand. I don't know what ultimately seduced me; I never was into Muggle-bashing, and all that pureblood nonsense. I guess it was the promise of superior power, superior knowledge. I was a fool… I soon realized what I had got myself into, but it was too late. "

He paused. "I witnessed some terrible things, Samara, so terrible they still haunt my dreams at night. But the Death Eaters are not some sort of country club where you can just cancel your membership. Once you're in, the only way out is being tortured to death."

"So how did you get out then?"

"I didn't! Here…" He held out his left arm. "I still bear the Dark Mark. Every time it burns, I rush to his side. I'm constantly at his beck and call. Dumbledore taught me Occlumency, so that I can hide my true thoughts and feelings from the Dark Lord, but I walk a very thin line. I'm only alive because he believes I never left him, because he believes me to be his spy at Hogwarts, and because I feed him what appears to be useful information. Every time I go there, I might be found out. Every time I go, I might not return. And he frequently tortures me to remind me not to disappoint him."

Samara exhaled. She would never have believed that she could feel sorry for a Death Eater.

"What happened with the girl?"

"You know her story, everyone knows their story. They had a son, Harry Potter."

Her eyes widened, incredulously. "You were in love with Lily Potter?"

He nodded slowly, then looked away, as if to hide more tears. "I loved her all my life. And I'm responsible for her death."

Samara shot him a questioning look, and after a moment of silence, he continued.

"I spied for the Dark Lord, I gave him information about a prophecy I overheard. I should have known of course, that it would prompt him to take an innocent life. But I only started to care when he decided to go after Lily's boy." His voice was bitter with self-loathing. "Only then, when I feared for her life more than my own, did I find the courage to turn my back on the Dark Lord. I went to Dumbledore for help, but he could not protect them in the end. When she was killed, all I wanted was to die, but Dumbledore gave me a purpose to live, a way to redeem my guilt."

There was a long silence. Samara's heart felt heavy. What a terrible burden to carry; finally she understood how he had become the way he was.

"I trust you, Severus. I can hide you. Stay here at Ravencroft, there is no need for you to run. And I will tell them the truth."

He shook his head. "No. Dumbledore's sacrifice has bought us an advantage we could not have dreamed of before. Now the Dark Lord has complete faith in me, I'm his favourite, his most trusted advisor. Now he is vulnerable. I could not be in a stronger position from which to work against him. Let them hate and despise me, it is my best cover. I will return to the Death Eaters, and play my part, until it's time to strike."

"Just stay tonight then… Just one more night…"

His black eyes looked at her sternly.

"No, Samara, I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, but I cannot give you what you want. I must continue down this path. You must forget me."

'How am I supposed to forget the man I love?' she thought. There he was, alive and wonderful, and yet, never to be hers. Oh, how she longed to be close to him, how it would hurt to let go.

"You are going to die for her, aren't you?" she said, her voice barely a whisper.

He didn't reply. It hadn't really been a question.

"Then at least let me help you." she continued, her eyes glittering.

"Because now you have finally learned to stun?" he sneered. "Don't be ridiculous. Your help is likely to get both of us killed."

Samara was hurt by those words, even though she knew he was right.

"Please. There are other things I'm good at."

"Samara, you are naïve and impulsive, something that does not mix well with your lack of defence skills, especially not in these times. I would hate to see you join the long list of people who have lost their lives in this war. Therefore, I must insist that you do not get involved, and try to stay alive. If you want to do something useful, then keep working on that potion. But you must promise not to seek me."

"Poppy warned me about you, you know," Samara said, blowing out a sharp breath, a bitter smile lifting one corner of her mouth.

"And she is right. You ought to listen to her," he replied, seriously.

"I can't."

He sighed heavily with resignation. "Give me your hand."

Samara held out her hand, and gave him an inquiring look as he took out his wand, and, pointing it at the ring on her finger, muttered an incantation she did not understand.

"What have you done?"

"I turned your ring into a Pending Portkey. If you decide to wear it, it will allow me to call you, if and when I truly need your help. But until then, you must promise to stay away from me."

"I didn't know such a thing existed."

"Sometimes a little Dark magic can be useful. Now, do I have your word?"

She nodded quietly, although she suspected he would sooner die than activate the Portkey.

"Why can't you tell me how you got the ring?"

"Because," he replied slowly, "if I told, you might storm off, and do something rash, and put yourself in danger."

"You do know who it was then?" Samara gasped. "Tell me! I will hex their balls off!" Her eyes glittered fiercely.

"That is precisely why I'm not telling you. And I can assure you, hexing their balls off would be quite unnecessary, as they have none to start with."

Samara looked at him reproachfully, but he ignored her. The light was starting to fade, as the sun was going down behind the thick layer of clouds.

"Now I will have to leave, and you – look out for yourself."

"One last kiss," she tried to bargain.

He put his hands around her head, and gently brushed a lock of hair out of her face. His eyes were soft and full of sadness.

"Let's not make this harder than it already is."

Then he got up and summoned his broom, reaching out to catch it as it came flying through the air. He mounted it, and without looking back, zoomed off, his black cloak fluttering behind him. Samara watched him disappear into the distance, wondering whether she would ever see him again.


	12. Light And Shadow

**A/N: **This chapter contains smut, some of it on the graphic side. Also a dark angsty scene. You have been warned.

* * *

The summer came and went, and soon the forest turned a kaleidoscope of yellow, red and brown. At the start of September, there had been a note in the Prophet, announcing that Severus Snape was to be the new headmaster of Hogwarts. On the one hand, Samara had been immensely relieved, as it meant that Severus was no longer on the run with squadrons of Aurors on the look-out for him. On the other hand, it was an unmistakeable sign that the Ministry, her very employer, had fallen under the influence of You-Know-Who.

Samara had immediately disconnected Ravencroft from the Floo network, which meant she now had to forego the convenience of travelling straight from her lounge to her office. Instead, she had to walk into the forest every morning, until she was outside the boundaries of her Anti-Apparition charms and could Apparate to London. She had also purchased a book on advanced home security, and doubled the protection around Ravencroft with several new and more powerful spells. She was determined that no Death Eater would ever set foot on her land again. Well, Severus didn't really count, of course.

Severus... She missed him more than she could say. It was a constant ache in her heart, a desperate longing that only seemed to get worse with time. She never took her ring off her finger now, not even for a moment, and often stared into its blue depths, musing about the connection to him it provided her, while frustrated that it still got her nowhere closer to him. She had sent him an owl once, asking how he was, but never received a reply.

With all this heartache, she was secretly glad that there had been enough work at St. Mungos in which to immerse herself. It had been a busy few months. Everyone at the hospital was working overtime as they were seeing more and more cases of injury from Dark magic, more and more Cruciatus victims, and a never ending stream of emergency calls to cover up attacks on Muggles, and undo the damage inflicted by rampaging Death Eaters.

Then, in October, she had received a letter from the Ministry, signed by a certain Dolores Umbridge, requesting details of any Muggle-born staff, so that they could be registered. Samara had immediately understood what she had to do. The only member of staff in her department who was Muggle-born was her talented young Potions apprentice, Melissa. After what had happened to her mother years ago, Samara was in no doubt as to Umbridge's intentions. Melissa would have to go into hiding, and where safer to hide than at Ravencroft. She called her into her office the same day, and told her of her plan.

Melissa violently shook her head.

"I can't just disappear like that! I have a life... And what about my job here? Surely it can't be so bad, I mean – it's the Ministry we're talking about!"

Samara sighed; she could understand the young girl only too well.

"Melissa, my parents also thought that things couldn't be so bad, and now they are both dead. The Ministry may only be asking for your details now, but if I give them your name, you'll soon find yourself required to stand trial, a trial with only one possible outcome: You going to Azkaban."

Melissa looked at her in shock. After considering for a while, she nodded silently.

"It is very good of you to offer to take me in, Miss Ravenhood, but I cannot possibly impose on your hospitality for an unforeseeable time."

"I don't think you have a choice," Samara replied. "Besides, I will enjoy the company."

And so it had been that one of the empty bedrooms at Ravencroft was now occupied. Samara whole-heartedly enjoyed the fact that she was no longer on her own, feeling a lot less lonely with the cheerful aspiring Potions Mistress around.

Melissa could not stand being unoccupied, and had soon taken over the Ravencroft herb garden and greenhouse, which she was quickly turning into an amazing collection of herbs and medicinal plants of all sorts. Samara now looked forward to coming home in the evening, with a warm fire already burning in the sitting room, and the smell of Trixie's cooking greeting her from the kitchen. They would then sit at the big oak table in the dining hall to eat together, and Samara felt like she had a found a new family member.

Melissa had also immediately resumed research on the Cruciatus potion. She was working on her own during the day in the old cellars, where they had created a small lab for her, brewing up variations of formulas according to Samara's instructions, and Samara joined her when she returned from the hospital in the evening. Together, they had often worked until late at night, experimenting with different ingredients. Samara was grateful for what she had learned from Severus about the Cruciatus curse, and she now had first hand experience herself. Every week, Samara took a selection of vials back to St Mungo's to try on the distressed victims, but they never had any effect whatsoever.

As the days turned shorter and darker so, it seemed, was the fate of the wizarding world. Christmas was approaching rapidly, but neither Samara, nor anybody else at the hospital, really seemed in the mood this year, and the Christmas trees with shining baubles and colourful ribbons that had appeared everywhere on the wards and corridors did little to change that.

Then, one day, Samara received a note from Flourish and Blott's, the bookshop in Diagon Alley:

_Dear Miss Ravenhood,_

_Unfortunately there has been a problem with your book order. Please could you drop by urgently, so that we can address the issue._

_Always at your service_

_Flourish and Blott's_

Samara wondered what this was about. She had indeed ordered a Potions book for Melissa's Christmas present, and decided she would go to sort out whatever problem there was after work.

Hours later, she strolled down Diagon Alley, which was trying even harder than St. Mungo's to spread some Christmas spirit. The various shops were trying to outdo each other with their seasonal displays, and with some success, as the street was teeming with Christmas shoppers. Samara had paused for a moment by a display of festive special offers outside Flourish and Blott's, browsing through books of Christmas-themed spells, when someone suddenly brushed roughly against her, while shoving something into her hand. She turned, opening her mouth to protest at such rudeness. When she saw the tall man striding away from her down the cobbled alley, black hair bouncing, and black cloak billowing behind him, her mouth fell open even further. It was Severus.

Samara's heart was pounding as she unfolded the little piece of parchment in her hand. 'Follow me,' it read in

Severus' edgy handwriting. She hurriedly stuffed the parchment into her pocket, and slowly walked after him, restraining herself not to run, and throw herself into his arms – it was obvious he wanted to be discrete. Severus had stopped outside the window of Madam Malkins, his back turned to her, pretending to look at the display, while waiting for her to catch up. When she was close, he walked on, and she followed, always staying several paces behind him.

Her heart sank, when he turned into Knockturn Alley. The memory of what had happened the last time she had ventured there was still fresh in her mind, and although she knew she would be safe with him around, it still made her feel slightly uneasy. She couldn't fight the urge to look behind her to check that no one was following them, and when she looked ahead again, Severus had disappeared. She slowly walked on a few steps, looking around to see where he could have gone, more and more afraid now that she was on her own. Suddenly, someone grabbed her hand, and pulled her through the door into a house. She yelped, but immediately relaxed when she saw it was him. He closed the door behind them, and uttered a spell to lock it. Samara threw herself at him, flinging her arms around his neck.

"Severus… you have no idea how much I have missed you!"

She buried her face in his chest and sighed. He allowed it for a moment, even putting one arm around her waist, but then he gently pushed her away and looked at her seriously.

"Samara, I didn't come here so you could use me as a pillow," he scolded. "I sent you that note because I need to speak to you in private."

"The note about the book order - it was from you?" Samara looked scandalised.

He lifted his wand, the hint of a sly smile playing around his lips, and cast a _Muffliato _spell around them, but Samara doubted that there was anybody there to overhear their conversation. They were standing inside the hallway of what appeared to be an abandoned wizarding property. In the semi-darkness, she could make out a wooden staircase leading up into the guts of the house. Cobwebs heavy with dust covered every corner of the ceiling, and on the yellowed wallpaper one could still make out the contours of portraits that had once hung there.

"Now listen carefully," Severus said calmly. "You and I, if we act with care and courage, have the opportunity to stop a horrible crime."

She looked at him wide-eyed, as he explained the details of his plan, and what he wanted her to do. When he finished, they were silent for a while. Samara was so stunned by what she had just been told, that she didn't know what to say. She was afraid, but knew she had to be strong.

"I wish you could be there tomorrow," she said.

"It would not be wise. The risk that I might be recognised is too great. You will be fine. As long as you play along, you have nothing to fear."

"I know, but I'm still scared," she sighed.

He put his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "Now, I do not need to stress that you must not discuss this with anyone. If word came out that they survived, you and I would be in a very precarious situation indeed."

She nodded quietly.

"Severus," she asked, "Do you think we are safe here?"

"I believe so. I have put protection around the entrance. However, it would not be advisable to go upstairs." He pointed at the staircase. "It is likely that the owners took measures to deter intruders."

"Then let's stay here for while…" she whispered.

"I don't wish to start this again, you know I can't…" he said, shooting her a forbidding look.

"I'm not asking for any commitment from you, Severus. Right now, if it's all I can have, I would settle for one more time making love with you."

He seemed to jump a little at her bluntness, but immediately mastered his expression. "You will feel I just used you," he retorted, scowling at her.

"On second thought, you can use me as much as you like, Severus Snape," she insisted.

"No." He looked away, but she had already caught a glimpse of the yearning that simmered in his eyes.

"Why not? I don't know when or if I will see you again. And don't say this is for my own good – As a blood traitor, I'm in danger anyway. Please… Let's snatch this one moment from the clutches of death…"

She moved closer, and reached out to caress his cheek. His dark eyes looked at her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. She could tell he was teetering on the edge of temptation, and struggling to hold on to his resolve. Sliding her hand to the back of his head, she pulled him towards her to kiss him, and as she pressed her body against his, could feel the swelling evidence of his desire.

"Please, Severus, don't deny me. I know you crave this as much as I do," she breathed against his closed lips.

He hesitated, remaining stiff and immobile for an excruciatingly long moment, but when she finally felt him relax ever so slightly under her touch, she knew she had won. He opened his mouth, and as their tongues met, let out a deep groan, which she felt more than heard. She had broken through his resistance, and, from under the cool, controlled surface of the austere Potions Master, seething passion was about to erupt like hot lava from the crater of a sleeping volcano.

Suddenly, his hands were everywhere, sending spears of fire through her body wherever they touched, while his lips and tongue claimed her mouth with ardent fervour. Merlin, he could kiss! Samara wondered how it was that she was still standing.

"Just one more time, huh? We better make this memorable then," he growled in between kisses, and his deep voice melted her like a snowflake in his palm.

He pushed her back against the wall, gathered up the material of her skirt and robes, and pulled the garments up to her waist. The cold air bit her heated skin, but he wrapped his long black cloak around her, enfolding her with his warmth. She whimpered with pleasure and need, when those graceful hands ventured into more intimate territory with skilful touch. Her hands ran down his flat, taut abdomen, and started to finger at his belt to free him from the straining fabric. His breath caught at her feathery touch, while his black eyes pierced her with unconcealed lust.

His hands slipped under her thighs, raising her knees, and hoisting her up against his pelvis. He pinned her against the wall with his weight as he settled between her legs. After little readjustment of their position, he thrust into her with desperate need. She moaned at this sudden encroachment, and wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, slinging her arms around his shoulders for support. She closed her eyes, and focused on the feeling of him deep and hard inside her. His lips moved to her neck, and she cried out as he started to gently bite at the cords of muscle there. She dropped her head back in ecstasy, feeling his hot breath close to her ear, weaving her fingers through his long silky hair. The friction of his rigid shaft against her walls sent roaring waves of fire through her blood as he withdrew partly and surged forward again and again. He pushed her legs further apart, allowing him deeper penetration, making her moan as he hit her in places not reached before. She forgot where she was, lost in the devotion of their love-making, where nothing existed but the feel of his sensual lips on her skin, the heat of his body, and the pleasure evoked by his thrusts, while time seemed to stand still.

When a deep guttural sound escaped his throat, and a shudder went through his body, it was over way too quickly. She held him close, tightening her muscles around him, feeling the quiver and hot gush of his release. She took his head into her hands, and kissed him tenderly, unsure whether the salty taste on his lips was sweat or tears.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, "I couldn't hold it."

"Don't be, I enjoyed it very much."

He withdrew himself, and eased her down on her feet again. His smouldering black eyes held her captive as he looked at her, making her stomach flutter with the intensity of his gaze.

"Not enough," he murmured. An impish smile played around the corners of his mouth, and she wondered what he was up to. It was only a moment until she found out, when he crouched down, and buried his face in her lap. She gasped when his tongue slid over her swollen little pearl, and sent a shock wave of sensation through her body. Then he did it again, this time applying slightly more pressure and making her cry out.

"Stop, Severus, it's too much!" she panted. He ignored her, licking and sucking at the small knob with electrifying result. Samara writhed about, trying to break free, but his hands on her hips held her still with unexpected force, while his lips and tongue continued their onslaught. This sensation overload was reducing her mind to a tingling kaleidoscope of colour and sound, unable to form a coherent thought or sentence. And just as she thought her over-stimulated body could take no more, and she was about to faint, he stopped.

She panted for breath, her knees shaking. She was barely aware of him repositioning her, turning her away from him, lifting her to stand on the bottom tread of the staircase, bent forward, her hands either side on the railing. He snaked one strong arm around her waist for support, and she gasped with shock when entered her from behind, her slickness allowing him to glide in easily.

It was a very different experience; she felt more vulnerable, but also incredibly aroused, and she would have trusted him with her life. His free hand cupped around her womanhood, applying gentle pressure on the centre of her lust. She had been on the brink already, and it took only a few slow strokes to push her over the edge into an explosion of sensation and pleasure that shook her body and left her reeling, weightless, floating.

But Severus didn't stop, and instead picked up the pace. Now holding on to her hips with both hands, he pounded into her harder, pushing her sensitised body further without respite. She tensed around him, which intensified the sensation even more, driving him almost mad. He groaned, pulling her against him to meet his thrusts. She cried out in frenzied abandon as she came again, taking him with her, riding the powerful tidal wave of their release, and letting it wash them ashore, drowning everything but the overwhelming sense of their union.

For several long moments, she felt nothing but a tingling numbness. Completely wasted, her knees finally gave way, and his arms wrapped around to sustain her. He turned her to face him, holding her in his embrace. Feeling a warm trickle between her thighs, she looked at him glassy-eyed, while sensation slowly returned to her body.

"I hope I haven't fucked your brains out," he mocked affectionately, planting a kiss on her forehead. "I suspect you still need them."

She shook her head, searching for words in the dazed jumble that was her mind. "Amazing… best I ever had."

His dark eyes looked at her with tenderness and satisfaction.

"Good. Then you have something to remember me by."

"Don't say that, it sounds too much like good-bye," she whispered.

"It may well be," he replied, a trace of sadness in his voice.

"Severus, I -"

"Shht…don't," he stopped her. He pulled her closer, and kissed her once more, deeply and voraciously, his lips pressed hard against hers, while his tongue explored her mouth, and she responded with equal fervour. When they finally broke apart, they were breathless, and, for a small eternity, remained still in each other's arms, defying the cold that threatened to creep through from the outside. Samara rested her head against his shoulder, feeling his heart beat and breathing in his scent. He smelled of rosemary and leather, of books and burnt wood, and she tried to engrave the sensation in her brain, for she feared the memory might have to last her a lifetime.

* * *

They all stood in a circle, none of them daring to move. Some of them had their hoods drawn deep over their faces, as if hoping to hide in its shadow. In the centre of their circle, a tall, pale-skinned figure with snake-like features, hardly recognisable as a man, was scanning their ranks, his red eyes piercing each one of them in turn, menacingly twirling his wand of yew between his long, bony fingers. The smell of fear lingered over the room. Then he stopped, intently staring at one of the men, who seemed to shrink, as if he wanted to sink into the ground. His eyes, normally grey pits of ice, were pleading for mercy.

"Never disappoint the Dark Lord, never…" The voice was just as snake-like as its owner.

"Crucio!"

It came without warning, more a hiss than a word, almost as if spoken in Parseltongue. Severus closed his eyes. He did not want to see the man, who had collapsed, and lay convulsing on the floor, but he could do little to ignore his screams. Finally, the curse was lifted, and the Dark Lord moved on to the Death Eater standing next to the gap left by the prone figure lying panting and whimpering on the ground.

Severus face was stony like a death mask when he felt the Dark Lord's gaze resting upon him for several long seconds. He knew how to divide his mind into what he wanted him to see and what not. After years of practice, it was almost instinctive. Yet the sense of relief was immense when the red eyes finally moved on. This time, he seemed to have got away unscathed.

"Well, my faithful Death Eaters," the Dark Lord's silky voice finally cut through the tension in the room, "I hear we have a guest tonight. Why don't you introduce our friend."

His hand motioned towards two of the hooded men, who hurried outside. When they returned after a short moment, they were dragging a woman between them. She was wearing the bright green robes of a St. Mungo's Healer. Her dark, curly hair was stuck to her forehead with what looked like blood. Severus' heart stopped as he recognised her.

The brutal-faced Death Eater threw her to the ground in front of the Dark Lord. She struggled to her feet, and looked around like a hunted animal, her eyes wide and scared. When they discovered Severus, she looked at him beseechingly, but did not dare speak a word. His face did not betray any thought, nor did his eyes acknowledge that he had seen her. But behind the mask, he was desperately racking his brain for something to do, only what?

"So, what have we got here?" the Dark Lord mused, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"The aurors escaped, my Lord. Apparently this woman had something to do with it. She is the daughter of that blood traitor, Ravenhood," the brutal-faced Death Eater replied.

Lord Voldemort's lips formed a derisive smile.

"A small fish…"

He bent forward, and lifted her chin up with the tip of his wand. Samara stared at him, frozen with fear.

"But nonetheless a pretty little prize for one of my Death Eaters…"

Again, the Dark Lord's eyes were scanning the row of his followers.

"My Lord, please, let me have her," Severus spoke, concealing the upheaval he was in behind his blank tone.

"Why, Severus, I had no idea you had a taste for this sort of entertainment. You always appear such a bookworm."

"Please, my Lord, let me have her as a reward for eliminating Dumbledore."

A viperish smile played around the Dark Lord's mouth, and his red eyes flashed maliciously.

"You have the insolence to ask for a reward, Severus? Let me remind you that you were merely paying off your debt." And turning towards a large, broad-shouldered man he spoke, "Walden, you shall have her, I trust you to finish it off."

'Not Macnair,' Severus thought, the anguish in his heart drowning out all coherent thought.

Macnair roughly grabbed Samara by the arm, and shoved her towards the door. She turned, and gave Severus one last look over her shoulder. Her eyes were begging him to help her, but he could do nothing.

The hooded men stood silently, while Voldemort paced slowly up and down. Then Severus could hear her screaming from the room next door. Her voice cut through his heart like a knife. He could not bear it, he had to do something. Now the Dark Lord slowly walked towards him, fixing him with his cold red eyes.

"Severus, you seem a little stirred," he remarked casually, cruel irony tainting his voice.

Severus was desperate to get a grip on his emotions. The Dark Lord was looking him straight in the eyes, and he knew he had to blank out the torment, the desperation he was in. It was almost impossible when his mind wanted nothing but to think of some way to get her out of here. If he could somehow reach her he could Disapparate with her. What did it matter now, if he were to blow his cover - as long as she lived. They would have to run, hide, for as long as the Dark Lord existed, but they might have a chance.

"Look at your hands, they are shaking, Severus! You haven't gone soft, have you?"

Were they? Severus was mortified. Had he focused so much on concealing his thoughts that he had lost control over his body? He could hear her scream again, and the sound cut him to the quick. He felt nauseated.

"We shall have to toughen you up a little," Voldemort sneered. His skeleton-like fingers were twirling the wand again. "Crucio!"

The pain seared through him like fire, but it was nothing compared to her screams. When he finally managed to regain command over his body, he scrambled to his feet, and bolted out of the room, ripping open the door behind which Samara was being tortured. But now there was silence. He threw Macnair out of the way, and fell to his knees next to Samara's lifeless form on the floor. She looked at him, but the light had gone from her eyes.

"No!" A scream escaped his throat, his voice unrecognisable to himself. He cradled her broken, defiled body in his arms, holding her against his chest. She still felt warm, and her hair still exuded the familiar flowery perfume. He could not breathe. His insides were screaming in agony as if his heart had just been torn out. Then there were footsteps behind him, he looked around, through a veil of tears, into a flash of green light.

***

Severus woke up drenched in cold sweat, his pillow clenched against his chest, his heart racing. He sat up, and for several minutes was unable to shake off the anguish. Deeply shaken and nauseated, he scrambled out of bed and into his bathroom. He was going to be sick. Slumped over the toilet bowl, retching, he grimaced, still unable to rid his mind from the images of his dream. Finally, he pulled himself up, his knees shaking, and took a bottle from the bathroom cabinet. Looking at the Dreamless Sleep potion in his hand, he was tempted to obliviate himself back to sleep as usual, but something was holding him back.

What if the dream was a sign, a bad omen?

'Nonsense,' he tried to tell himself, 'You are starting to sound like that drunken hag Trelawney.' He had never held any regard for divination. Being a firm advocate of the exact sciences, he had always disregarded any form of dream interpretation as fluff. His mind had merely played a trick on him, substituting Samara for the nameless men and women of his usual nightmares. No doubt, this was a result of the intimacy they had shared the day before. Still, there was no way he could go back to sleep now.

The stone floor felt ice cold under his bare feet, and he shivered in the chill of the early morning as he went back to his bedroom and got dressed. Looking for something to busy himself with, he wandered down into his office. His predecessors were either sleeping in their portraits, or had left their frames. Dumbledore was snoring peacefully, and Severus shot him a resentful look. His eyes fell onto his desk, which was empty apart from a heavy leather-bound tome. He didn't even have any essays to mark these days, which had always been another good option to while away the night after awaking from one of his nightmares. Now he understood why Dumbledore had so much time for planning and scheming, he had nothing else to do. Well, he could try to read, but he doubted he would be able to concentrate sufficiently. Instead, he poured himself a large shot of Firewhisky, and downed it in one gulp. The strong burning sensation of the liquid running down his throat took his breath away for a moment, but at least it got rid of the awful taste in his mouth.

He paced up and down, restless, finally coming to stand by one of the leaded windows, and looked out into the courtyard. Fresh snow had fallen overnight, decorating every turret and pinnacle of the castle. The sight of snow-covered Hogwarts would have been enough to get anyone into a Christmas spirit, but Severus had no eyes for its beauty. He thought about the day ahead, and what he had asked Samara to do. It filled his heart with apprehension. What if there was something he had not foreseen? What if things didn't go to plan? He had to make sure everything would be all right, and he had at least a vague idea of how he might achieve that. He walked over to the glass cabinet in his office, and started to search through the dozens and dozens of bottles it contained. He finally found what he was looking for, pulling a dusty old bottle out from the back. It had been ages since he'd made it, it wasn't something he normally used. He unscrewed the top to smell the murky liquid. Satisfied that it was still fit for use, he closed the bottle again, and slipped it into his pocket.

To Severus' great relief, this year the students had all gone home over the Christmas vacation without exception, even the children of his fellow Death Eaters. This way there would be no incidents with the Carrows over the next couple of weeks, and he could dare to leave Hogwarts for a few hours. He Summoned his travelling cloak, and walked out of the door. As he strode down towards the gate in the darkness, the only sound the fresh snow crunching under his boots, his plan was taking shape in his head.


	13. Behind The Mask

**A/N: **MarkDarcy, this chapter is dedicated to you. Thanks for your beta reading, your feedback and your reviews!

* * *

Samara could not take her eyes off the clock that hung over her office door for more than a few seconds. It was futile trying to go over the patient records for the appointments later in the day. Nervousness and apprehension had wrapped their tentacles too tightly around her to let her concentrate on her work. Instead, her mind went over the instructions Severus had given her yet again.

"You and I, if we act with care and courage, have the opportunity to stop a horrible crime," his words echoed in her head.

Horrible indeed. Two patients were to be murdered. Two patients who, Merlin knows, had already suffered enough. As Samara worked mainly in Potions and Plant Poisoning, and rarely went up to the department for Spell Damage, she did not see them often. But since she had started to work on a cure for Cruciatus syndrome, she was only too aware of their case. In her mind, she replayed the conversation she had with Severus the day before, while standing in the abandoned house in Knockturn Alley.

Severus had placed his hands on her shoulders, and looked at her seriously as he explained.

"Tomorrow afternoon, a certain Bellatrix Lestrange will show up at St. Mungo's. She will have a letter stating that she is acting on behalf of the Ministry. She will claim that the Department for Magical Maladies has obtained a new healing potion for Cruciatus victims, which is to be administered to Frank and Alice Longbottom. Are you aware of their condition?"

Samara nodded quietly.

"She will request to see the patients to administer the potion herself. Then, if you do not intervene, the Longbottoms will die about a week later from what will seem like a natural death of unidentifiable cause."

"She will poison them? But why? They are no danger to anyone!"

Severus shrugged. "I suppose she does not like to leave unfinished business."

"What do you mean?"

She was the ringleader of the group, along with her husband, brother-in-law, and Barty Crouch, who tortured the Longbottoms into oblivion. The Dark Lord still teases her occasionally about not seeing it through to the end."

"Merlin! I will call the Aurors!" she exclaimed in outrage.

"You will do no such thing. Not unless you fancy a slow and painful death yourself."

"But – We can't let her murder them!"

"And we won't. But we have to be more subtle than that. It is essential that Bellatrix is left to believe she succeeded. Here -"

He handed her a small paper envelope. Samara peeked inside at the white powder it contained.

"What is this?"

"Sulphide of Antimony. You will sprinkle a little into a goblet and then make sure Bellatrix uses that to administer the potion. It will neutralise the poison."

"How can you be so sure that it will work?"

"I had to prepare the potion for her, and I tried it myself. Trust me, it works, or I wouldn't be standing here." His voice was heavy with sarcasm.

Samara's mouth fell wide open, and she stared at him in shock.

"What – How- You – You didn't!"

"It was the only way. I could not give her an ineffective potion as I was sure she would test it on something. She has always mistrusted me."

Her head was spinning. How could he be so brash and take such a risk! It was typical of his arrogance, of how he regarded himself infallible, never considering the possibility that he might make a mistake. And thankfully, he hadn't!

"With the added antimony," he continued to explain, "Instead of causing death, the potion will only induce a coma, lasting about a day. During that time, you need to ensure that the Longbottoms are declared dead, and their bodies consigned to their family. They will then need to stay in hiding until the day the Dark Lord is vanquished, something that should pose no problem given their condition."

"That woman, she is a Death Eater, isn't she?"

Severus nodded. Seeing the fear in Samaras eyes, he tried to reassure her.

"She does not know you, and, as long as you comply with her wishes, has no reason to harm you. You have nothing to fear from her."

It was easier said than done. Samara couldn't deny that she was scared by the prospect of having to face the Death Eater. She would have to pretend that she knew nothing of the woman's true intentions, that she believed her to be acting in the patients' best interest, and she worried that something in her face or her eyes might betray her.

At least she was well-prepared. She had spoken to the welcome witch, and asked her to call her rather than someone from Spell Damage to deal with Lestrange. As it was a Potions issue of sorts, there was a case to be made that Samara should be the one to attend. She had also prepared two goblets by sprinkling the powder around the inside so finely and evenly, it could hardly be noticed, even if you looked for it. She was going to drop by the Janus Thickey Ward during her lunch break to place the goblets on a shelf, where they would be close at hand. That was all she could do for the time being, there was no benefit in pondering on it further. She tried hard to focus on the notes in front of her, but again failed miserably.

The morning seemed to drag on, and Samara was glad that she had no challenging cases to attend to. There was a teenage boy who claimed he had overindulged on his mother's mince pies, but obviously had been experimenting with some recreational potions. A few cases of love potion abuse, upset stomachs, and a woman who had an enchanted Christmas bauble in a place it should never have gone - the usual pre-Christmas mishaps. She usually gave her patients her full attention, but today her brain was somewhere else, and so she was relieved when she had seen the last one out, and was left to her paperwork again.

It was in the early afternoon, the snow had finally stopped falling, and her office was filled with the grey light reflected by the cloudy sky and fresh snow outside her window, when the receptionist knocked on her door.

"Miss Ravenhood, they are here," she whispered.

They? Samara was only expecting one person. She took another sip of Calming Draught, before following Myopina back to the entrance area to meet her visitors. When she got there, her heart skipped a beat before going into overdrive. There, next to a beautiful witch with long black curls and bright red lipstick, stood none other than Lucius Malfoy.

It cost her some effort to control her face and her emotions. She told herself to calm down, she had to see this through. She was in a public hospital with plenty of people around, and it was not possible to Apparate or Disapparate from within the walls of St. Mungo's. She would be safe. Malfoy's cold eyes glared at her, and he had an unnaturally pleasant smile on his face as she greeted them, but he seemed to play along with her pretending not to know him. She studied the letter from the Ministry carefully, examining the official seal, and wondering who in the Department for Magical Maladies they had put under the Imperius curse. She would have to be more careful in her future dealings with them.

Then Samara took them up the four flights of stairs, and down several long corridors to the Janus Thickey Ward, a walk that had never seemed so long. She had to lead the way, and felt highly uncomfortable with the two Death Eaters following close behind her. Once they were standing besides the beds of Frank and Alice Longbottom, Samara took the goblets prepared with the antimony powder, and handed them to the Death Eater woman, watching intently as she poured an ominous dark liquid from an elaborately labelled bottle.

Samara was asked to administer the medicine to Mrs. Longbottom, something she welcomed, as this way there was no chance of Lestrange reusing the first goblet. Her hands were shaking ever so slightly as she brought the goblet to Alice's lips, but she just looked at Samara with empty eyes. It was for patients like these that Samara most wished to find a cure for Cruciatus syndrome. She knew the Longbottom's had a son who was raised by his grandmother, and it broke her heart to think of the family life they had been denied. Then Mr. Longbottom received his dose, and Samara put the goblets away.

"How long do you expect it will take, until we will see the effect of the medicine?" she asked innocently.

"Oh, we don't know. It may have no effect at all, it is only a trial after all," Bellatrix replied with a devilish smile.

"I understand. We will notify you as soon as we see any change. I suppose we are done here then?" Samara replied, anxious to get the Death Eaters out of the door.

"Not quite, Miss Ravenhood," said Malfoy, leering at her. "I somehow have the feeling that we have met before…"

"I don't think so, Mr. Malfoy," she replied coldly.

"Oh, I'm certain of it. Ravenhood… Your name rings a bell. Was your father not a well-known blood-traitor?"

Samara's face went bright red, but she said nothing. Bellatrix seemed to enjoy seeing her scared, and let out a fiendish snicker.

"I wonder if you would come with us, Miss Ravenhood, there is some Ministry business I would like to discuss with you," Malfoy said sweetly.

"I'm busy this afternoon, but you are welcome to make an appointment at reception, Mr. Malfoy," Samara replied.

"An appointment! Have you any idea who you are talking to?" Bellatrix hissed, fixing Samara with a threatening stare. "Mr. Malfoy here does not need an appointment, you will do as he wishes!"

"Right, just give me a moment, I need to use the toilet," was the only thing Samara could come up with, and it caused Bellatrix to laugh out hysterically.

"Why do you argue with this woman, Lucius? There is a much better way. Imperio!"

For a moment Samara felt the urge to follow the Death Eaters towards the door, but then suddenly the curse seemed to have lifted, as she regained control over her body again. She wondered whether she should reach into her robes for her wand, but did not dare to. They would disarm her in a heartbeat, and it was better to let them believe she didn't have her wand with her. Instead, she continued to follow them, pretending she was still under the Imperius curse.

Once they had just walked through the door, Samara jumped back into the room, and tried to slam the door shut between her and the two Death Eaters, so that she could lock herself in. But Lucius' booted foot was quickly pushed into the doorway.

"Your Imperius curse is abysmal, Bella, it will get you into trouble one day," she could hear him say, before he pushed the door open, and roughly grabbed Samara by the arm. She struggled, but stopped when she felt the tip of his wand pushed against her neck. That was it - her only hope now was that someone would stop them on the way out.

"Oho, this is hardly the right way to impress a lady."

Three heads turned to where the voice had come from.

"You should take a leaf out of my book, my dear friend; I have five times been winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming- Smile Award."

The Healer and the two Death Eaters stared open-mouthed at the bed, which was surrounded by smiling images, all of the same wizard, pinned against the wall and scribbled all over. The living counterpart of the wizard now climbed out of it and walked towards them, gathering up his long lavender robes as he did so. He had deep blue eyes, and his long, golden hair fell over his shoulder in perfectly coiffed waves.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he beamed, revealing a row of perfect, sparkling white teeth, "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League…And you would be?"

"That's none of your business, you crackpot!" Bellatrix hissed.

"Ah, not in a good mood today, are we, my dear?" he asked unperturbed by her hostility, while giving her his most charming smile. "I must say, your hair looks fabulous. May I ask what you use to get those curls into such a lovely shape?"

"Shut up, you idiot, or you will regret it!" she shrieked angrily. Meanwhile, Lucius had taken out his wand, and pointed it at Lockhart, slightly loosening his grip on Samara's wrist in the process.

"Get back into bed and leave us alone, and no harm shall come to you," he said to Lockhart, trying to sound friendly.

"Ah, a duel, how wonderful! They are always so much fun!" Lockhart exclaimed in delight, as he looked at the wand pointed at him. He reached into his robes, and pulled out a wand himself. "Let's battle it out for the pretty Healer, shall we?"

Samara couldn't believe her eyes. How was it possible that a patient on a closed ward was allowed to carry a wand? At the same time, she was extremely grateful for the distraction he provided, and wondered if it would be a good idea to try to break free from Lucius' grip and run for the door.

Lucius' eyes glittered angrily. Without warning, a red flash of light shot out from the tip of his wand, but, to Samara's surprise, Lockhart deflected it neatly.

"A stunning spell… Nice try, but it was all too obvious what you were going to do." Lockhart smiled. "If you had read my work 'Magical Me', you would know about the importance of surprise when it comes to dueling. Why don't you try something else?"

Now Bellatrix had drawn her wand as well, and, shooting a quick glance at Lucius, she cried, "Crucio!"

Again, Lockhart parried the spell. It hit one of his posters at the wall, which burst into flames.

"Tut, tut, tut, I must tell you that the use of Unforgivables is normally against the rules, as is two against one. But since the two of you seem to be beginners, I shall overlook it. Did you read about how I banished the Bandon Banshee? I was a beginner myself then…"

His voice died away as he saw the furious look on the Death Eaters' faces. Samara felt the tension in the air, things were about to get serious. Lockhart stared at Bellatrix intently, seemingly calculating his options, as the two raised their wands against him. Then everything happened very quickly. Lockhart lunged at Samara, throwing her to the floor, and shielding her with his body, as two curses flew over them. Bellatrix and Lucius were thrown back against the wall with a stroke of Lockhart's wand, and crashed to the floor, while he grabbed Samara's hand, and pulled her up with him.

"Quick, let's get out," he told her, his hair in disarray now.

The two of them made a run for the door and down the corridor. But, within moments, the Death Eaters had taken up the chase, and green flashes of light shot dangerously close past them. Lockhart pulled her down again, and they took refuge behind a massive Christmas tree.

"Do you have a wand? Now would be the time to put that Shield Charm practice to good use," he whispered at her, while not taking his eyes off their persecutors, deflecting the curses that were being shot at them without respite.

Samara pulled out her wand from under her robes, wondering how Lockhart could possibly know about her practice session with Severus. Her eyes fell on his wand. It was ebony, and then she realised. Polyjuice Potion - it was Severus, he had been there all along protecting her.

With the surge of joy and confidence she felt at his presence, her Shield Charm came out perfectly, and allowed Severus to actually fire back. One of his hexes hit Bellatrix, who seemed stunned for a moment, and looked as if she was going to vomit. Then she retched, bringing up a gush of slime and big fat slugs. The look on her face was one of pure horror.

"Lucius," she whimpered, "What is this?"

But Lucius ignored her, and instead continued his attack with added fervour. One of his curses hit the Christmas tree, which immediately turned brown and shed all its needles, depriving them of their shelter. Bellatrix, on the other hand, was too preoccupied now belching up slugs to be any danger to them. Then, suddenly, Samara noticed a strand of black hair that had appeared amongst the golden locks.

"Se – Lockhart, your hair, you're transforming!" she whispered in his ear. Severus turned around briefly, and, for the first time ever, Samara could see fear in his eyes.

"When I say 'now', we run towards the door over there," he whispered back.

He lifted his wand, and the dead needles of the Christmas tree transformed into a swarm of angry wasps, which he sent towards Lucius and Bellatrix. Lucius let out an anguished scream as he tried to shield himself from the attacking insects.

"Now!" Severus whispered, and they used the moment of distraction to run through the door at the end of the corridor, and locked it behind them, warding it with a powerful spell.

They were inside a small store room with a single window. Samara looked at Severus, who had completely transformed now.

"That was close, if they had seen you…" she whispered. "How could you let that happen?"

"The potion should have lasted at least another half hour; it must have been too old."

"Anyway, I'm glad you're here," she sighed. "Do you have more Polyjuice Potion?"

"On Lockhart's bedside table…Is there a way out from this room?"

Samara shook her head. On the other side of the door, they could hear Lucius cursing. Apparently, he had been stung by several wasps. Bellatrix was still burping up slugs every few seconds.

"Lucius, this is disgusting, do something!" she shrieked.

Lucius tried '_Finite Incantatem'_, but it didn't seem to work. Despite their precarious situation, Samara couldn't suppress a grin. Then there were footsteps shuffling down the corridor.

"Excuse me, what exactly are you two doing on my ward?" Samara heard the resonant voice of Miriam Strout ask. "Got lost, eh? Merlin, look at your faces, they're all swollen! How did that happen?"

"Wasps…" Lucius whimpered, sounding as if he was in tears.

"Oh dear, you need to be seen urgently. First floor, Creature-Induced Injuries."

At that moment there was another burp and splashy sound.

"Look at the mess you're making, this is a hospital for Goodness' sake! I understand your condition is most unfortunate, but you could at least have brought a bag to vomit into. Here, use this. Now off with you to the first floor. I would take you, but I have to check on my patients. I'll send my patronus down to let them know you're coming."

They could hear Lucius' and Bellatix's footsteps and the hiccupping sound die away as they were ushered out by the Healer. Then Miriam's shuffling steps were coming back.

"Gilderoy, you're out of bed again, you naughty boy," she lilted. They could hear her walk about, opening and closing doors.

"Gilderoy, where are you? Are you lost again?"

"Where is the real Lockhart?" Samara whispered to Severus.

"I locked him in the bathroom, he was quite happy playing with the toilet flush," he answered with a smirk.

"Oh, in that case she should be able to find him."

Then there was a knock and rattle on their door.

"Gilderoy, you haven't locked yourself in have you, sweetie?" the voice on the other side called. "Don't you worry. I'll get someone to open the door."

Samara looked at Severus. "We need to get you out, quickly."

After a moment's consideration, she Summoned her cloak. Within seconds, it came flying around the corner of the building, and she opened the window to catch it. Then she took her wand and, drawing it along the seams, cut out the lining.

"Give me your cloak," she told him.

He pulled the ridiculous lavender robe over his head, revealing his own clothes underneath, and shrugged off his cloak.

Samara took it, and, using her wand again, replaced the lining with the shimmering black fabric she had just removed from her own, magically stretching it for a perfect fit.

"I think you know what this does… You'll need it more than I do," she said handing the garment back to him, and watching him put it on.

"You have to jump," she explained, pointing down the dizzying depth beyond their fourth-floor window. "You can Disapparate once you're a few yards away from the building."

She reached out a hand and caressed his cheek. "Look out for yourself, will you?" she whispered.

His dark eyes looked back at her with incredible softness, while his hand stroked briefly over her hair. A simple gesture, yet Samara sensed it was the expression of deep affection. To her disappointment, they were interrupted by the sound of someone approaching. Without a moment of hesitation, Severus turned away, climbed up on the window sill in one elastic motion and jumped. She glanced down briefly, watching him Disapparate, before taking a bright green bundle from one of the shelves, removing the wards on the door, and stepping outside. There she met Miriam who had returned with the caretaker.

"Oh, you managed to open it?" the plump Healer asked in surprise.

"Yes, I needed to get a fresh robe," Samara replied.

"Did you see a patient in there?"

"No, there is nobody there. Why, are you missing one?"

"Lockhart, he appears to have wandered off again," the other woman sighed.

"Have you checked the bathroom?"

"No, good idea. I'll have a look."

Samara sighed with relief when she finally reached the safety of her own office, and locked the door behind her, her knees still slightly wobbly from the earlier adrenaline rush.


	14. Shadows Over Hogwarts

Samara sat on the sofa in her living room after breakfast, finishing her coffee and looking out of the window into the garden, enjoying the mild warmth of the winter morning sun. The last of the snow had melted, and the daffodils were starting to pop their heads above the surface, still a little unsure as to whether their time had come. The trees seemed to sense the approach of spring, too. Their buds were swelling, ready to open up into showers of white blossoms at the first spell of milder spring weather.

As usual, it wasn't long before her thoughts turned to Severus, wandering back to that fateful December afternoon, recalling the soft glint in his eyes, as they stood there in the hospital store room, before he had turned to jump out of the window with the elastic movement of a large black jaguar, landing softly in the courtyard below. She recalled his angular figure striding away from the building without looking back, a casual flick of his wand whipping up a whirlwind to blow away his footprints in the snow, just as he Disapparated. That had been the last she had seen of him, and weeks later, despite all her efforts, she could never banish him from her thoughts for long.

Samara was pulled out of her reverie by Melissa, who had appeared from the kitchen, a mug of coffee in one hand, and a slice of toast in the other.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Miss Ravenhood!"

"Oh no, is it really?" Samara replied wearily.

Normally she was always painfully aware of Valentine's Day, when female colleagues received huge bouquets of flowers and pink cards, or left work in high heels and little dresses to go on a date. But this year it had apparently fallen on a Saturday, and she had only too happily forgotten about the occasion. Being thirty-five, single, and lonely was not something one needed reminding of.

"So, did you get any cards then?" she asked Melissa.

"No. Last year I did, but he left me for another girl.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I don't want him back. I wonder why it even bothers me to think that he'll be spending today with her... I don't know if it's the humiliation of being dumped, or because he has someone else and I don't."

"Hmm."

Samara didn't know what to respond. She wasn't exactly an expert on relationships.

"So...you didn't get any cards then?" Melissa asked hesitantly.

Samara shook her had.

"And, if you had remembered, is there somebody you would have written one?"

"No." She shook her head again. "Well, the truth is, there is somebody I'm very much in love with, but I wouldn't have written him a card," she added after a moment of consideration.

"Why not? Maybe he likes you." Melissa suggested.

"He... I don't think he would appreciate a card... And he's not available."

"Oh... Is it someone I know?" Melissa was unable to restrain her curiosity.

"Hm, possibly." Samara was quite sure that Melissa would have been taught by Severus while at Hogwarts.

"Someone from St. Mungo's?"

"No."

There was a finality in Samara's reply that told Melissa she wasn't going to play guessing games. Melissa sighed.

"You know what I think? We two lonely hearts should do something together, go out and drown our sorrows or something. What do you think?"

"We have work to do," Samara frowned.

"Oh, come on, a few hours won't hurt. Besides I'm starting to feel really claustrophobic, I have been confined here for months."

"Yes, and for good reason. It's too dangerous for you to leave the estate."

"We could just go into the Muggle village, nobody knows me there. Oh, please, Miss Ravenhood!"

Samara thought about it for a moment. Melissa was right, the Muggle village would be safe.

"All right, there is a little tea shop in the village. We can go there in the afternoon and have some cake," she finally gave in. "But first, I want to make up another formula I've put together."

After several hours of work in the cellars, Samara and Melissa left their steaming cauldron, and headed into the village. It was a pleasant walk, the light breeze was refreshing, and the sunshine did much to lift their mood. Samara realised she had been spending way too little time outdoors lately. The little village could get quite busy with tourists and day-trippers during the summer months, but now was decidedly quiet. Samara wondered if the tea shop would even be open, but then Valentine's Day was a business opportunity no shop or restaurant would miss. Finally they reached the lovingly preserved thatched cottage that hosted the tea shop and entered. The only other customers were two young couples, Muggles, no doubt. Samara and Melissa found a cosy table by the window and sat down. Soon, an elderly woman with short grey hair and laughter lines came to take their orders. Samara went for traditional cream tea, while Melissa ordered a hot chocolate and carrot cake.

"Aren't you glad we came out here, Miss Ravenhood?" Melissa asked, leaning back in her chair with a sigh.

"I am. And I think it's time you stopped calling me that. I'm no longer your boss, we're just house mates now, so please call me Samara."

Then the friendly lady brought their drinks and cakes, and the two women tugged in. Melissa took a sip of her hot chocolate and closed her eyes.

"Hmm. Who needs a man if you can have this? It's like a hug in a mug."

"A what? Merlin! Melissa, this is it!" Samara exclaimed.

"What do you mean, Miss Raven – I mean, Samara?" Melissa blushed.

"_Theobroma cacao –_ the Cruciatus potion! It's so obvious, I don't understand why I didn't think of it before! Eat up quickly; we need to get to the shop before it closes."

***

Back at home, Samara rushed down to the lab with the cocoa she had bought on the way home. The contents of the cauldron, various flowers and herbs infused in milk, were still hot, and she sprinkled a good amount of the dark powder into it, adding a few spoonfuls of sugar for good measure. She stirred until it was all dissolved and then handed Melissa a goblet of the brown liquid to try.

"Mmh, this must be the most delicious potion ever made!" was Melissa's verdict. "The chocolate goes rather well with the rose petals and vanilla."

"Well, bottle it up then, I'll take it to the hospital on Monday to test it."

Samara was strangely confident, and couldn't wait to give the potion to a patient. And so it was not inconvenient that on Monday morning there were four people, suffering from Cruciatus syndrome, sitting in the hospital waiting room in order to see her. She treated them with the new potion, and in each case the effect was astonishing. The symptoms ceased immediately, and, with a drink of Revitalising Potion, the patients could be sent home an hour later.

Melissa had been awaiting her return with curiosity and anticipation, and as soon as Samara walked through the door, she came running up from the lab.

"Tell me, I'm dying to know, what happened?" she exclaimed.

"It worked... Perfectly every time!" Samara beamed. "We did it!"

"We did it?" Melissa's eyes widened with astonishment and awe.

"We did it!" Samara confirmed.

And then with a shriek of joy, Melissa jumped at her and hugged her, and then the two danced around the dinner table, singing and rollicking until Trixie came out from the kitchen to see what the racket was about.

When they had all calmed down, and sat down for dinner, Samara got contemplative, and gave Melissa a serious look.

"You realise, this is probably the culmination of our careers as potioneers, and yet we can't tell anybody about this. I didn't tell any of the other Healers at the hospital how I helped those patients, and didn't put anything into the case notes either. If anybody asks, all they got was Revitalising Potion."

"Do you think if the Death Eaters found out, you would be in danger?"

"Most definitely. And I wouldn't trust the Ministry with this either. But the only way I can help those patients is by continuing to go to work and keeping this secret."

"Gosh, I never really thought about what would happen if we actually succeeded," Melissa admitted.

Samara nodded. "But I promise you one thing, Melissa. When all this is over, if You-Know-Who is vanquished, we will publish our work in the Practical Potioneer, and it will have your name on it."

"Me?" Melissa said incredulously, "but Miss Ravenhood -"

"Call me Samara."

"You don't have to do this, I'm only your assistant."

"No, we both worked on this. And I'm sure, when the time comes, I will be able to convince the panel that you deserve the title of Potions Mistress, despite the fact that you couldn't continue your apprenticeship at the hospital."

"Oh, I hadn't even thought about that, I mean, it hardly matters now."

"One day it will matter, we need to continue with your education. Now that the research on this potion is done, I will give you a different assignment each day, so that you will be well prepared for your exams."

***

Apart from the promised assignments, Melissa spent the whole week brewing up large stocks of the potion for St Mungo's. The lady who ran the village shop had given her a worried look when she had bought a whole pallet of cocoa and several packs of sugar, and had warned her about the effect this could have on her figure.

Despite her insistence on secrecy where the new potion was concerned, there was one person Samara very much wanted to tell, but she had no way of communicating with him, nor would he be pleased if she tried. But then surely there was nothing wrong with going to Hogwarts at the week-end to supply Poppy with a few bottles of the new potion. Of course, she could have sent Trixie, but the temptation of being close to Severus, fuelled by the hope that she might walk past him in the castle, was too strong. So instead, she had sent an owl to Poppy alerting her of her planned visit.

_Dear Poppy, _

_I will drop by this Sunday to leave you a supply of a new healing potion we have developed. I trust you will find it useful, but would rather not send details by owl. _

_Love_

_Samara_

***

On Sunday morning after breakfast, she packed four large bottles of the potion into her small medicine bag, which, with the help of an undetectable extension charm, was able to host a whole cupboard of potions and medical supplies. She slipped into her warm winter coat, and called out for Godric as she stepped out into the garden. The stallion came trotting down the gravel path from the gardens, greeting her with a soft sniggering sound. She climbed onto his back, and he galloped off, pushing off into the air as he gained more and more speed. Below them the Devonshire coastline was disappearing into the distance as they headed north, flying over Muggle towns and hills dotted with trees and farm houses. An hour later, she could see Hogsmeade appearing in a valley below them, and the mighty towers of Hogwarts Castle. The sight of her old school from the air never failed to impress her. Samara decided it would be best to land by the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and leave Godric with Hagrid. Godric touched down a few hundred yards away, and proceeded towards Hagrid's hut at a leisurely trot. Samara jumped off to knock on the door. A few moments later, the door opened, and Hagrid appeared at the threshold. When he recognized Samara a big smile lit his bearded face.

"Miss Samara!! Good to see ye, wha takes ye to Hogwarts?"

"Oh, Hagrid, I can't believe I have been away for so long. I'm just down to see Poppy with a new healing potion."

Hagrid's eyes had wandered towards where Godric stood, and his pupils widened in amazement.

"Wha beautiful creature ye have there, Miss Samara! Tha could be an Ipterripus if the were not extinct."

"He is an Ipterripus, Hagrid, I found him in Sweden, but that's a long story I'll have to tell you over a cup of tea sometime when things calm down. Look, you wouldn't mind looking after him for me, while I pop up to the hospital wing?"

Hagrid's face positively glowed with delight now.

"Of course, he needs some hay and water. Come ye beauty, I have something nice for ye". He only had eyes for the horse now, walking slowly towards him, and patting him on the neck. Samara smiled, Hagrid was in his element.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours" she called as she waved, and turned to walk towards the castle.

The corridors where completely deserted, as the students where still in classes. But somehow the silence was dismal, like the heavy fog that lay over the grounds smothering out all happy thoughts. She was relieved when she reached the hospital wing, and finally came upon a living soul in the form of Poppy Pomfrey, who had been waiting for her. Their greetings were heartfelt, and Poppy cried out in amazement when she heard that Samara had a cure for Cruciatus syndrome.

"You're a genius, Samara. I would never have thought that I would need such a thing, at Hogwarts, out of all places, but times have changed. In fact, I have a patient here right now to try this on. A poor fourth-year Hufflepuff, who aroused the anger of our new Muggle Studies teacher."

"What?" Samara cried in anger "Death-Eater staff torturing students at Hogwarts? And what does your headmaster do about it?"

"Pah, he's one of them, isn't he," Poppy spat. After a moment of contemplation, she lowered her voice and added, "But then at times I get the impression he is trying to restrain them, as if there was a little decency still in him. Maybe it's gratitude towards Dumbledore. The truth is - things could be much worse here, given the circumstances."

Samara wished she could have said something, but instead she suggested they treat the Hufflepuff boy. Again, the effect of the potion was instant, and quiet astonishing. These were the best moments in her profession, when she was able to help somebody, and see the relief in their eyes. She accepted Poppy's offer of a cup of tea, and the two Healers chatted and exchanged gossip and news.

An hour later Samara left the hospital wing again, and walked towards the main buildings. The thought that Severus was so close, the possibility that she might see him around the next corner, almost made her stomach turn with excitement. As she walked past the Great Hall, where students and teachers were now taking lunch, she caught a glimpse of the staff table through the half-open door, but the headmaster's chair was empty. What could possibly be wrong with going to see him in his office, now that she was already here? She walked down another corridor towards the staircase that led up to the headmaster's office. The same stone gargoyle as always guarded the passage, and Samara was overcome with the strangeness of Severus now occupying the space she had always associated with Dumbledore. As her eyes rested on the gargoyle, she realised she had no hope of getting past without knowing the password.

"I better ride home to Ravencroft" she murmured to herself, when suddenly the gargoyle sprung to the side to let her past.

Puzzled and hardly able to believe her luck, she proceeded to climb up the long spiralling staircase. Her heart was racing, when she slowly turned the brass knob to open the heavy oak door and peeked inside. There he was, sitting on a bench beneath the window, his face buried in his hands, elbows perched on his knees, and his hair falling over his face in an entangled mess. He did not appear to have noticed her presence, which was very unlike him.

"Severus!"

Now he raised his head and glanced towards her. He looked awful. His face was ashen and hollowed, and his hair was greasy and unkempt. He looked like he might have slept in his clothes, or not slept at all. His black eyes glittered with agony and mad raging anger.

"What are you doing here? Get out!" he hissed.

Ignoring his words, she walked up to where he was sitting, and crouched down in front of him to look up into his eyes. She reached out to touch his face, but he flinched and turned away.

"Leave me alone!" His voice was hoarse, almost a whisper.

Samara immediately recognised the symptoms of Cruciatus syndrome, and had never been more pleased to possess a remedy. What surprised her was that Severus was normally exceptionally strong, and able to resist the effect of the curse. Either this had been a particularly bad Death-Eater meeting, or the weight of the responsibility that rested on his shoulders was finally wearing him down. It pained her to see him like this.

"Has he tortured you again? Why?" she whispered softly.

She reached into her bag, pulled out the last bottle of the new potion, and poured some into a goblet.

"Drink this," she said as she held out the goblet towards him. He didn't move, but gave her a questioning look.

"We managed to find a potion against Cruciatus syndrome, and I thought you might like your own supply. Try it, it will help you."

"You really did it?" he asked. His voice was husky, and the look he gave her was soft, almost sad, but with a peculiar intensity that made her stomach flutter. She wished she knew what went on behind those black eyes.

He took the goblet, and downed its content, pulling his face into a grimace.

"Urgh, it's sweet!" he croaked; but then his features relaxed, he closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, almost a sigh. She put the potion bottle on the table beside him, wondering how he could down the most disgusting potions without batting an eye, and then complain about one that tasted like chocolate.

When he opened his eyes again, he looked at her with what seemed like regret, taking her hand in his, and holding it for a moment, before slowly standing up, still visibly exhausted, and pulling her up with him.

"You must go," he said, his voice suddenly firm again. He put his arm around her shoulder, almost as if to support himself, and started to walk her back towards the door. She didn't want to leave; she longed to be close to him. The warmth of his hand on her shoulder made her ache for his touch.

"Please, let me stay, just for a little while," she asked, while tuning to face him and wrapping her arms around his waist.

"No. Have you forgotten your promise?" He pushed her away, his expression now hard and unyielding.

"I just came to see Poppy," she replied defensively.

"Are you really that daft or are you just pretending?" he spat. "I have enough on my hands trying to protect students, who don't know what's good for them, without you wandering about the castle as well! You will stay away!"

"You can't ban me from seeing my godmother!" she protested.

"I can, and I will!" he thundered, eyes flashing. "You are not to set foot on Hogwarts grounds again!"

He took a few steps towards the door, seemingly anxious to get her to leave. That's when she noticed he was limping.

"What's wrong with your leg?"

"Nothing. Go!"

"Severus, don't try to fool me, I'm a Healer; I can see something is wrong."

"If you must know - I was attacked by a hippogriff. Even the creatures in the forest seem determined to make my life difficult. Anyway, it's just a scratch."

"Hippogriff injuries don't heal by themselves. Sit down and let me have a look," she ordered, motioning him back to the bench. To her relief, he complied, and sat down as he was told. She pulled up the leg of his trousers, exposing his calf. He had bandaged it, and Samara started to remove the dressing, revealing a deep cut. When she saw the angry, inflamed wound her breath caught.

"Merlin, Severus, this looks awful. Why did you not see Poppy?"

"She's just waiting to poison me, can't wait to be rid of me like all of them."

"Nonsense, she would never consider such a thing. Alternatively, you could have come to see me at St. Mungo's, you know you can trust me."

"Didn't have time… It was nothing," he mumbled defiantly.

Samara shook her head. "It was very negligent; you could have lost the leg."

She reached into her medicine bag, and pulled out a bottle of potion together with a large muslin square, which she soaked in the liquid, and wrapped it around his injured calf.

"Gnnh!" He moaned through clenched teeth, digging his fingers into the upholstery.

After a few seconds, Samara removed the linen. The wound looked now clean, and the skin had returned to a normal colour. She moved her hands over the cut, which instantly closed under her touch, leaving behind only a faint scar.

"You can do wandless magic?" he asked as he watched in amazement.

"Only healing spells. That's what my mother's ring is for. Anyway, it's just you men who are obsessed with your wands." She smiled at him. "There, that's sorted you out. Now don't tell me you are not glad I came to see you, you were a mess."

"Perhaps a little," he grumbled. "Nevertheless, I must insist that you leave, and do not come here again. There are Death Eaters at the school, who wouldn't think twice before shooting a killing curse your way. If you leave right now, you are unlikely to run into anyone, they are still at lunch. We must not be seen together."

He got up, pulled her towards him, and squeezed her against his chest in a brief hug.

"Be careful, won't you?" he whispered into her hair.

She buried her face in his chest, inhaling his masculine scent, a trace of burnt wood, feeling the heat of his body through his shirt, and was overwhelmed by the rush of feelings flushing through her. He released her, and fighting back the tears that were welling up in her eyes, she turned towards the door, grabbed her bag, and hurried down the stairs.

As she got back to Hagrid's, she found Godric munching on a pile of hay and treats that Hagrid had lain out on the grass for him, visibly enjoying himself. She jumped on his back, and, waving and shouting good-bye to Hagrid, who was working in his vegetable plot behind the hut, she galloped off. As Godric soared into the air, she buried her face in his mane, and abandoned herself to her tears.


	15. You Must Be Kidding

It had not been a good day for Severus Snape. Not that he ever had many good days, but today was particularly bad. He had expected as much, when the Dark Lord had announced his visit, but nothing could have prepared him for what was to come. He felt as if things were spiralling out of his control in a vortex of ever increasing violence and doom, and no matter how much he tried, he could do nothing to prevent it.

Spring was always late so far up north, and even though it was well into March now, winter still had its grip on Scotland. The cold was rendered even more penetrating by the humidity, which settled on Severus' hair and face like a cold web as he walked down to the Gate in order to greet the Dark Lord. Hagrid's hut stood deserted, since the half-giant had fled, and, in the heavy grey of dawn, its cold, empty windows stared at Severus like a sign of dark foreboding. When the Dark Lord had sent him away to walk the grounds alone, Severus knew that he was up to something sinister. Later, he had joined him in the castle, but had not come up into the headmaster's office. Severus suspected that he wanted to avoid facing Dumbledore's portrait, as if, even in death, he was afraid to look him in the eye, and probably quite rightly so.

After the Dark Lord had left, Severus had traced his steps along the lake, looking for something insidious that he might have hidden. But he would never have imagined what he found - the shock of Dumbledore's white marble tomb, violently split in half, the sight of the faded corpse of the man he had killed, and the realisation of what the Dark Lord had been after. The Elder Wand, the wand that Voldemort had so obsessively searched for, had been right under Severus' nose, had been the wand owned by Albus Dumbledore. He had mended the cracked marble slab, and, boiling inside with rage, strode back to the castle.

It was outrageous. How could Dumbledore expect him to take his place, execute his plan, and protect the students from harm, while withholding such important information from him? Now the most powerful wand in the world had fallen into the Dark Lord's hands, a wand that supposedly made its owner invincible, when he, Severus, could so easily have prevented it, could have hidden it, destroyed it even. This time, he would tell Dumbledore in no uncertain terms what he thought of his secrecy and scheming. This time, the old man would not be able to pretend he was sleeping. Dumbledore's portrait was such a constant presence in Severus' life that it was easy to forget that the man himself was indeed gone. Nevertheless, he decided it was good enough to vent some of his anger, as he climbed the stairs to his office and entered, pleased to find the frame of Dumbledore's portrait occupied.

"Does it disturb you, Albus, to know that the Dark Lord defiled your tomb, and took your wand?" he addressed the painted man in his slow, measured drawl. He was determined not let his agitation show.

"Ah, Severus, I expected as much..." Dumbledore's portrait replied, completely unperturbed.

"You expected it?" Severus asked incredulously, pronouncing each word with exaggerated precision. "And yet you didn't see fit to share such a minor piece of information with me? The fact that you had the Elder Wand, the Death Stick, which has now fallen into the hands of the most powerful Dark wizard of all time?"

"There is no need to get so worried over this, Severus, it is of little consequence."

"To you, it obviously is not, since you are dead already. The rest of us, however, do not have that luxury."

"You know very well how much I care about the fate of the living, Severus. Your cynicism is quite uncalled for," the old wizard said with a benevolent smile.

"Do you care then, that the Dark Lord has just instructed me to deliver him the Longbottom boy? What do you think he intends to do with him, if I comply?"

"I have complete trust in you that you will find a way to protect the students of Hogwarts, Severus," Dumbledore said calmly.

"Do you, Albus? And would you have any suggestions on how I might achieve that? Have you any idea what it means, with Potter's lot pulling one pointless stunt after the other? Do you think all it takes is a little torture, and the Dark Lord is appeased again?" His patience was beginning to wear thin, and it cost him some effort to stop himself from raising his voice.

"I appreciate the difficulty of your situation, Severus. The most important thing however, is to keep your cover."

"My cover!" he spat, unable to contain his frustration any longer. "I'm sick and tired of this charade, Albus! Why not kill the Dark Lord now, while I still have the chance? Was that not the reason you made me your murderer, so I could gain the Dark Lord's trust?"

"Lord Voldemort cannot be killed, not yet, not until Harry has completed his mission."

"His body can be killed, it has been done before. And last time, it gave the world thirteen years of respite. Thirteen years, in which you could have completed that mission yourself, but did nothing! Why only now? Why entrust a teenage boy with such a task?"

"I have only recently come to know the secret of Lord Voldemort's immortality."

"Is that so? Tell me, then, is it a Horcrux that Potter is to destroy?"

"You know?" Dumbledore seemed shocked.

"It doesn't take much to work that out. Or did you think I was unaware of this particular branch of Dark magic? All those years, you had an expert in the Dark Arts right here! Perhaps, if you had trusted me, we could have worked it out, before the Dark Lord had a chance to rise again."

"You were young then, very young, Severus, and, if I may say so, rather unstable. I feared you might be tempted."

"Tempted to take a life and maim my soul, in order to prolong my own miserable existence? If you thought me capable of that, then you didn't know me at all," he said bitterly.

"Please, Severus, this discussion is of no benefit. You must trust me that I have a plan."

"Trust! That is quite a request, coming from you!" Severus snarled in anger.

"Please, Severus, it is our only hope of defeating Lord Voldemort."

"Your plan is getting a little costly, Albus, don't you think? It might do well to revise it."

"Severus, please!"

"Severus, please? Those were precisely the words Charity Burbage spoke, before the Dark Lord killed her, and fed her to his snake! How many more, Albus? Potter? Lovegood? Longbottom? Granger, perhaps? How many more lives are expendable in your grand scheme for the greater good?"

Severus' eyes were glittering suspiciously, either with fury or because they were threatening to fill with tears, but he managed to hold on to a little composure.

"Do not think that the loss of dear Charity does not pain me," Dumbledore replied wearily. "But I have thought about it long and hard, and come to the conclusion that this is the best way."

"Really? Let me tell you what conclusion I have come to!" The younger wizard's face hardened with determination. "I will not stand by again, and watch as a member of staff, or a student is murdered. So, for the sake of your plan, Longbottom had better find a way to stay out of trouble!"

He turned on his heel and left, heading for the Slytherin common room. He had to tip Longbottom off about the danger he was in. He would mention it to Crabbe and Goyle, they could be relied upon to taunt Neville with it in classes. And if that failed, Albus would have to pay the Fat Lady a visit.


	16. The Power Of Love

The first day of May was promising to be a glorious one. When Samara left the house, and walked towards the forest in the early morning, the sun was already drying the dew off the flower strewn meadows, and the birds were singing. It would be a beautiful day. The bottles of Cruciatus potion clattered happily in her bag. She smiled at the thought of her wonderful secret. She knew she was running a risk each day she went to work, but this made it all worthwhile. One day, she would be able to treat the Longbottoms, but, for the time being, it would be too risky, not just for her, but for Severus, too.

When she passed the orchards, she noticed that the horses seemed strangely alarmed. They trotted up to her, snorting, and followed her up to the edge of the forest, from where she would Apparate to London. Was anything in the air, a thunderstorm maybe? But there wasn't a cloud in sight. She couldn't understand it, and it made her feel slightly apprehensive.

* * *

Some five-hundred miles up north, someone else had far less trouble interpreting the signs correctly. Severus Snape knew what was coming. And as he watched the sun set from his office high above the lake that same day, he was certain that he would not see it rise again. The Dark Lord had sent a message, alerting him that Potter might try to break into the castle, and it could only mean one thing: The time had come.

He had put the most powerful protections around Hogwarts, and every passage was guarded by Death Eaters and Dementors. There was no way for Potter to enter unnoticed, not even under his cloak. He would be caught. And then, while they waited in his office for the Dark Lord to arrive, he would have the chance to tell the boy what had been Dumbledore's last mission for him, the fact that Potter himself was a horcrux.

Severus had been most upset, when Dumbledore had disclosed this piece of information to him. He had felt betrayed, angry that the old wizard was willing to sacrifice Lily's child that, after all he had asked of him over the years, her sacrifice would still be in vain.

But, as was typical of him, Dumbledore had not given Severus the full story. As usual he had just pointed him in the right direction, and relied on him to work it out for himself. And so he had. The prophecy had given him a clue, while another hint was the significance Dumbledore had placed on the Dark Lord using Harry's blood to create his new body. Through months of research and reading into the ways of ancient magic, he had filled in the rest.

His hand stroked absentmindedly over the heavy, leather-bound tome on his desk. Yes, the Dark Lord had to kill Potter. But by doing so he would only kill the piece of soul that he had forced upon the boy, while Potter himself was tied to life via blood bonds, because the Dark Lord had unwittingly anchored the boy's life to his own. As long as Potter did not fight back, he would once more be the Boy Who Lived. If, on the other hand, he tried to kill the Dark Lord, the two would annihilate each other. But how was he to know?

And so there was more that he had to tell Harry. It was contrary to all he had been told. All those years, he had been led to believe that his purpose in life was to destroy the Dark Lord. That task, however, would fall onto Severus. He looked up towards the empty frame of Dumbledore's portrait.

_'That's what you intended me to do, isn't it?'_ he thought. _'That's why you wanted me to kill you, because you wanted me to have your wand, the death stick. But, thanks to your lack of trust in me, that part of your plan has failed.'_

Yet, he hoped that it would not matter. He still had the element of surprise on his side. He just had to make sure he caught the Dark Lord unaware, that he did not give him a chance to defend himself. And in his mind, like so many times before, he played out what he imagined the final show-down would be.

A Death Eater meeting would be called. The Dark Lord would want his followers to witness the murder of Harry Potter, to finally prove to them that the Boy-Who-Lived stood no chance against his powers. He would cast _Avada Kedavra,_ and Harry would crumple to the floor. Severus would be the first to move amongst the awe-struck Death Eaters, kneeling down beside the boy's body to check for a pulse. And he was confident that there would be one.

Then, completely unexpected, he would whip around, drawing his wand. The Dark Lord would be caught by surprise in his moment of victory, slain by the hand of the one he trusted most. It would be easy. He would not even have to say the words. All he would have to do was think of how that man had cold-bloodedly murdered Lily, how he was going to take the life of an innocent baby. And if that was not enough, of how he had killed poor Charity, or of all the times he had tortured a defenceless victim. Oh yes, it would come naturally. And Severus would relish that moment, the one he had waited for all those years. He would see the look of shock on the Dark Lord's face, the glint of red extinguishing in his eyes as he fell, nothing more than an empty shell. He would enjoy every second of his retribution, his sweet revenge.

He wondered how the other Death Eaters would react. There were some, he was certain, who would secretly breathe a sigh of relief if, the Dark Lord was gone. The Malfoys, for instance; that family had suffered too much under the Dark Lord to still be truly loyal to him. Others, opportunistic cowards like Crabbe and Goyle, would probably look to him as their new Lord, awed that he had defeated the two most powerful wizards of the century. But then there were those who believed fervently in the cause, those whose loyalty for the Dark Lord bordered on insanity. Bella, Dolohov even, they would not let the murder of their beloved master go unpunished. He would have a few seconds at best, before he himself would be struck down by several outraged Death Eaters.

And in his final moment, he would accomplish what had been the sole purpose of his life ever since that fateful Halloween. Finally, he would be able to repay his debt to Lily. By casting his own life as a shield between Harry and his enemies, like she had done all those years ago, he would renew her protection, so that they would not be able to harm the boy.

Severus paced about his office, while it got darker outside. He did not feel like lighting a candle or a fire, and soon the room was only illuminated with moonlight reflected by the dark mirror of the lake. What was one supposed to do with the last hours of one's life? For a moment he considered whether to write Samara a note, but his heart was numb, and it was better to keep it that way. He glanced up at Albus' portrait, hoping for a word of encouragement to ease the waiting, but his old mentor was still absent. And so he spent the time like he had the rest of his life, alone.

He told himself that he would welcome death. It would be a relief, to be released from a life that was forfeited long ago, a life that had offered him little apart from pain, humiliation and duty. So why was there this anxious flutter to his heartbeat, why did his hands suddenly feel clammy and cold? Supposedly, it was only natural. Every living being instinctively tried to avoid death, but it was something that willpower could easily overcome. Lily had not blinked an eye, and neither would he.

He tried to imagine her smile, but his memory of her was fading, and, like so many times lately, the blurred image of her face morphed into Samara's features. He reached into an inner pocket of his ropes, and withdrew a photograph that was torn along one side. It was a blessing that he had found it amongst the clutter at No 10 Grimmauld's Place. It would provide him with a little comfort on this loneliest of nights.

Suddenly, after he had been looking at Lily's image for what seemed like an eternity, the wait was over. He felt the dark mark burn, as Alecto had called the Dark Lord. It could only mean that Harry had been caught. His pulse accelerated with apprehension, but after only a short moment of putting his thoughts in order, he put the photograph back into his pocket, walked out of the room with purposeful strides, and descended the spiralling stairs. First, he checked the Carrows' office, but nobody was there, and so he set off on the long walk towards Ravenclaw Tower. The castle was awfully quiet at this late hour, as if Hogwarts was holding its breath.

When he heard the footsteps of a group of people approaching around the corner, he stepped behind a suit of armour, taking his wand out of his pocket.

"Who's there?" he heard a clipped voice ask.

It was Minerva.

"It is I," Severus replied, as calmly as he could, stepping out of his hiding place.

She, too, had her wand out, and to his surprise she was alone. He was sure that he had heard the footsteps of more than one person. His eyes darted into the air around her, looking for the tell-tale signs of Potter under his invisibility cloak. Mundane things often gave him away, like little bits of dust floating in the air. He was barely aware of his conversation with Minerva, the words came out of his mouth almost automatically. Unable to detect anything, he decided to confront her.

"Have you seen Harry Potter, Minerva? Because if you have, I must insist -"

He realised he had made a mistake, when her wand suddenly lashed out at him. But his reflexes were good. His Shield Charm met her curse with such force and swiftness, that she staggered backwards, pulling down a torch from its bracket with a flick of her wand as she did so. In midair, the flames transformed into a ring of fire that she sent towards him, transfiguring it into a great black snake, before blasting it to smoke. For a moment, Severus thought it had only been a threat, but then the smoke solidified and reformed into a swarm of flying daggers. He pulled the suit of armour in front of him like a shield, and escaped them only by a hairsbreadth, while they sank into its chest with resounding clanks. He gasped, realising that the niceties were over, that her curse had been intended to kill. Now he was certain that Minerva was lying, that she had indeed seen Harry.

To make things worse, Flitwick, Sprout and Slughorn came now running down the corridor to Minerva's help. Flitwick hexed the suit of armour behind which Severus had taken refuge, to start slashing out at him. He did not want not duel and potentially hurt his allies, nor did he fancy taking on four of them, so he decided to make a run of it. He threw the armour back at them, and sprinted down the corridor. But his attackers came hurtling after him. Thanks to being somewhat younger and fitter than his pursuers, he managed to gain a few paces on them, but he had nowhere to go. Without thinking, he ran into a classroom, and jumped through the window.

Once more, the fabric, with which Samara had lined his cloak, magically halted his fall, and he came to land quite gently in the courtyard below. He only sustained a few minor cuts on his hands from breaking through the glass, and that hardly mattered.

He briefly considered his options. If Potter had escaped the Carrows, and was wandering around the castle under his invisibility cloak, he stood little chance of finding him alone. It would be better to join the Death Eaters. They would use Dementors to trace Potter, and he had to be there when he was caught. He gathered himself up, and continued running towards the perimeter wall. He jumped, and the cloak carried him far higher than his muscle power could, over the wall and down again. From there he could Apparate to Hogsmeade.

* * *

Samara had still been inclined over a book in her office at this late hour, when Poppy's owl-shaped Patronus appeared in her office.

"The battle has begun, we are fighting. If you can come, I could use your help here," her godmother's voice had echoed.

Samara had called back all the doctors and nurses, and asked them to be on stand-by to treat any injured transferred from Hogwarts. Now the wards and corridors where bustling in busy preparation. She had instructed a colleague to go through the records to see which patients could be released early, in case they needed the space for more serious cases. Meanwhile, Samara herself packed her medicine bag with supplies to take to Hogwarts. Submerging herself in work was a welcome way of easing the anxiety that tortured her heart. Tonight everything would be decided, and she shuddered to think just how much was at stake.

The hands of the clock over her door were moving close to eleven o'clock, when she reached for her bag, and walked out of the door, down the corridors past the nurses that scurried about, preparing the wards. She stepped out through the glass of the display window, with the ugly peeling dummies in their Seventies' attire, into the deserted back alley. As the fresh evening breeze hit her face, her eyes widened in surprise at what she saw. There, under the street light, stood Godric.

How had he got there? As usual she had Apparated into work this morning, leaving the horses at home. Godric shook his head up and down, and his hooves pawed the pavement impatiently. She climbed on his back without hesitation, and he immediately pushed into the air with powerful strides, while she clung on to the wild curls of his mane. They were going so fast that the cold wind whipped tears into her eyes.

Before long, they had left London far behind, and the lakes and snow-covered mountains of Scotland shimmered in the darkness beneath them. When they descended upon Hogwarts, the castle was ablaze with the raging battle. Grateful for the fact that they could not be seen, she asked Godric to land close to the hospital wing. She jumped off his back, and sneaked towards the building, and through the back door. Poppy was relieved to have her for support, and together they started to lay out everything they might need in order to treat those injured on the battlefield.

All the while, Samara's thoughts were with Severus, wondering where he was, and on which side he was fighting, hoping that no harm would come to him. The possibility that she might find his body sprawled out on the battlefield was too painful to even consider.

* * *

Severus was lying on the floor in the Shrieking Shack. His fingers felt warm blood gushing from the deep cuts in his neck, as he desperately tried to staunch the bleeding, knowing he was unlikely to succeed. He could taste blood in his mouth, felt it trickling down his throat. The door of the shack closed with a bang as the Dark Lord left. He was alone.

His mind was racing, his time was running out fast, and the burning pain in his neck was nothing compared to the knowledge that he had failed. He had seen it coming, knew what the Dark Lord intended to do, and yet he had been unable to prevent it, had been caught out by the snake. He had been desperate to find the right words to convince the Dark Lord to let him go find Potter, but he would hear none of it. He had concentrated hard to blank out his mind, when he looked him in the eye, while his heart was pounding with angst, to conceal just why he was so desperate to find Harry. Find him before the Dark Lord did, be alone with him even for the briefest moment.

Now, everything was at risk, all that he had lived his miserable existence for during almost two decades. He had been ready to die for Lily's son, ready to deny the happiness of which he had a taste. It would have been his final atonement - but not like this, not like this. He could sense his powers leave him through the steady and unstoppable trickle of blood, the cold blanket of death descending upon his consciousness to smoother out his life. And just as he was surrendering to hopelessness, out of nowhere, Harry crouched before him.

Severus gathered all his strength to reach up, seize Harry's robes, and pull the young wizard towards him. There was no time to explain, he could hardly speak, there was only one way.

"Take - it. Take - it."

He was appalled at the gurgling, rasping sound that left his throat. And then he surrendered to Harry his most treasured and most feared memories in a silvery thread. It did not matter anymore, let the boy know everything. For once, he was grateful for Granger's quick-wittedness, as she conjured a flask into which Harry transferred the shimmering substance with his wand.

The boy had never looked more like his father. But for the first time, Severus did not feel the usual hot twinge in his heart at the sight of Harry's face. At last, he had forgiven.

It was done, and there was only one thing he longed for.

"Look - at - me," he whispered.

And as his black eyes met the green ones, he saw her, while darkness enrobed him.

Severus walked down a dark tunnel towards where Lily stood, surrounded by an unearthly light. He was not afraid to die; she was coming to get him. He looked into her green eyes as she smiled at him, her long chestnut hair falling down her back, framing the beautiful face that he had longed so much to see. He hugged her, and held her in his arms, and it felt just like he remembered, just like the time he had walked her home after the cinema on the last day of the summer holidays, before they went back to Hogwarts for their fourth year. It was his sweetest, most treasured memory, the one he recalled in order to produce his Patronus, the one he had not given away, and was going to hold on to as he took his last breath. Lily had kissed him on the mouth, his very first kiss, shy, and clumsy, and innocent, before Petunia had opened the door, looking at him reproachfully.

"Lily, I'm so sorry... Please forgive me," he murmured into her hair.

"I have. I only wish I had forgiven you sooner, and tried harder to preserve our friendship. So many things might have been different."

"That... I meant the prophecy, I gave him the prophecy, Lily. I never forgave myself for that."

"Let the past rest, Sev, it cannot be undone. You have done enough to make up for it."

"Have I? Harry - I tried so hard to protect him, but I think I failed in the end."

She smiled, tears in her eyes.

"I never thought you would do that, but you did."

After several long happy moments, Lily freed herself from his embrace, and looked him in the eyes.

"You need to go back now, you've been here way too long."

"Go back? Where? I'm dead!"

"No, you're not. You can still choose, Sev, choose life."

"How? Where are we, Lily?"

"Where? In your mind, Sev! Only you will know the way."

The spell was broken, she was gone, and so was the light surrounding her. He was alone in the dark, lost. He started to panic, suddenly realising how much he wanted to live. Suddenly, he had only one thought, and hoping against hope, called her name: "Samara! Samara!"

* * *

Samara was stacking potions bottles from her bag onto the shelf in front of her, when she suddenly felt herself hauled into the air, and, after a moment of being in free fall, came to land roughly in front of a derelict building, with boarded-up windows and a lopsided roof – the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade.

When she realised that it was Severus' Portkey that had taken her here, her heart filled with apprehension. Where was he? She approached the shack, and hesitantly reached for the door, when the sound of a cruel voice right behind her stopped her dead in her tracks, and made her spin around, terrified. She scanned the surroundings, but there was nobody there. Then the voice resumed, and she realised that someone must be using a Sonoros charm somewhere in the vicinity. It was You-Know-Who. He was offering a truce if Harry Potter surrendered himself within the hour. She drew her wand from her robes, before opening the creaky door of the hut.

"Lumos!" she whispered, and the milky glow of her wand illuminated the dark form of a man lying on the floor in a pool of blood. "Severus! No!" she gasped in horror.

She knelt beside him, and seized his cold hand, her fingers clasping around his wrist trying to feel a pulse, but there was none. How long had he been lying there, was she too late? Judging from the amount of blood on the floor, there could be little left inside him.

"Please don't die on me!" she whispered, tears in her eyes.

As she bent over his pale face, her eyes were immediately drawn to the deep wounds disfiguring his neck. You-Know-Who's snake - she had seen this type of injury before. At the time, it had taken over two weeks to find an antidote against the venom. Meanwhile, they had been unable to stop the bleeding, and had kept the patient alive with hourly doses of Blood-Replenishing Potion. She had to act quickly, but knew exactly what she had to do. She reached into her medicine bag, and pulled out a small glass bottle, containing a dark green liquid. Then she let a few drops fall onto the cuts in Severus' neck. Within moments, the bleeding stopped. She ran her hand over the wounds, which closed under her touch, and left nothing but four bulging red scars.

She unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt and robe, pulled the sleeve up over his elbow, and inserted a needle into the crook of his arm. The empty eyes of the skull on the dark mark were glaring at her.

"I won't let you take him from me," she thought.

She took out a large bottle of Blood-Replenishing potion. He was too far gone to drink it, so she would have to administer it intravenously. It was not standard practice in wizard healing, but Samara's mother had been trained in Muggle medicine, and Samara had learned it from her. When she was done, she pointed her wand at his heart, the moment of truth. She could feel her own heart thumping anxiously.

"Revivo!" she whispered.

She put her ear down on his chest to listen, and was overjoyed to the point of tears when she heard a faint thudding there. Now all she could do was wait.

"Scourgify!" she whispered, making the sticky blood that was everywhere - on the floor, her hands, her robes, in Severus' hair - evaporate into nothingness.

Exhausted, she once more put her head down on his chest. Now his heart beat was steady and determined, while she listened in silent happiness. It was quite convenient, really, that he was unconscious. This way, she was free to lie near him, stroke his hair, and caress his hand.

After what seemed like a blissful eternity, he stirred. She sat up, and looked at his face. When he finally opened his eyes, his pupils wandered around disoriented, before finally coming to rest on Samara. She felt the warm glow in his eyes as they looked at each other in silence.

"Samara, my guardian angel, you are here," he whispered softly.

He seemed to be trying to remember what had happened. After another moment of silence, he spoke again.

"Help me get up; I need to find Harry."

"You are going nowhere, Severus, and if you so much as try to get up, I will petrify you. In case you don't remember, you have just nearly bled to death after You-Know-Who's pet got a little too cuddly."

"You don't understand - everything depends on it…please."

His voice, still faint as it was a big effort to speak, had a sudden urgency to it. And then he told her in as few words as he could manage what he thought had been Dumbledore's last plan, that crucial piece of information he had not been able to pass to Harry, because it was not a memory.

"Right," she said. "You stay here, and I'll find Harry."

"No, I will go myself. It's too dangerous, there are Death Eaters everywhere."

"But you have no idea where Harry is."

"He will have gone to use the Pensieve in my office."

"It's been over half an hour, he may not be there anymore. You didn't hear You-Know-Who's broadcast. He told Harry to come to the Forbidden Forest alone."

"Then that's where he will go. I will check if Hagrid is back. If he is, it seems unlikely that Harry would not say goodbye."

"First drink this, it will strengthen you."

She poured the content of a bottle into a goblet, adding a swig from another flask, and handed it to Severus, who downed the liquid in one gulp.

"What have you given me? This isn't helping," he whispered.

"It will help. It's just Strengthening Solution and a little of your favourite – Dreamless Sleep. You didn't really think I was going to let you wander about in this state? Now don't move until I'm back."

His eyes widened in shock, as he tried to protest, stretching out a hand to hold her back. But before he could say anything, he was overcome by sleep.

Looking at his peaceful face, she wondered how long the effect of the potion would last. She had only given him a small amount, for fear of overdosing him in his fragile state of health. She took her wand, got up, and disappeared into the darkness.

The last thing Severus heard, before drifting off, was the creaking of the door, and, a few seconds later, hooves thundering off into the distance.

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter really was the reason I wrote the whole story. So I'm absolutely dying to know what you thought of it. Please, please take a moment to review!

Btw, the beautiful flying black horses with their psychic ability are inspired by my own lovely black thoroughbred. He can't fly, of course, although sometimes it feels like he does. :-)


	17. Freedom

Samara and Godric galloped through the night, silently, invisibly, no more than a gust of wind rippling the grass and rustling the leaves. As they raced along the edge of the forest, she wondered how on earth she was going to find Harry. Severus was right. Hagrid's place was the best bet, far better than wandering around the forest aimlessly. When they reached the grey stone cottage, Godric stopped abruptly and Samara jumped off. The door stood open, and a faint light flickered behind the windows. As she peered inside, she saw Hagrid rummaging about in the semidarkness, a lantern in his hand.

"Hagrid, are you leaving?" Samara asked, as she shyly stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind her.

Hagrid turned to face her. He looked in a mess. His clothes were muddy, and there were twigs and leaves stuck in his hair and beard.

"Miss Samara, yeh shoudn' wander abou' on yer own like tha'!"

"I have Godric with me. Listen, Hagrid, have you seen Harry?"

"Harry? Nah, jus' came back. McGonagall sen' me an owl ter come an' figh'. Gotta get Fluffy from the forest ter join."

Samara wondered what 'Fluffy' was, but suspected that it was anything but its name. Hagrid set down the lamp, all the while continuing to search around in his house. When he finally found what he was after, Samara was surprised to see it was a flute.

"I need to find him, Hagrid! There is something I need to tell him. A message from Severus."

"Him!" Hagrid's expression turned grim at the mention of Severus' name, while his massive hands clenched into fists.

"He's not what you think. He's been on our side all along. Dumbledore left him instructions, and if Harry doesn't get the message, he might die," Samara tried to explain.

"He killed im!" Hagrid yelled incensed, but seemingly worried at the suggestion that something could happen to Harry.

"That was all part of the plan. Dumbledore was already dying, and - "

Suddenly there was a loud bang on the door, making Samara freeze mid sentence.

"Open the door!" a voice shouted outside.

"Who is it?" Hagrid growled.

"Who do you think it is, you oaf? Come out, or we'll burn down the house!"

Samara and Hagrid looked at each other.

"Get outta the back door!" Hagrid whispered to her, ushering her towards the back of the room. "Don' worry abou' me, I'll be allrigh'."

At that moment, the front door was thrown open with a blast, and Samara could see a group of hooded men with torches standing outside. She quickly sneaked out the back door before they discovered her. Godric was waiting right there, and she climbed onto his back. There were yells, and several bangs at the front of the house, and as Godric pushed up into the air, she could see an immobilized Hagrid be tied up and dragged along by at least half a dozen Death Eaters. She took out her wand and aimed.

"_Stupefy_!" As she carefully formed the incantation in her head, a red flash of light shot out from the tip of her wand. The first and second time she missed, but at the third attempt she hit one of the Death Eaters in the back, and he crumpled to the floor. Samara was elated; it was the first time she had actually stunned a real person, a Death Eater no less! She had to try to free Hagrid. There was a commotion and angry shouts among the group, as they tried to identify the source of the attack. Encouraged by her success, Samara fired again and again, secure in the knowledge that they couldn't see her. She nearly got another one of them, but he managed to deflect the spell in time.

"There, it's coming from there!" one of the hooded men shouted, pointing his wand.

Samara's eyes widened with shock, when suddenly several green flashes came soaring right at her. The stallion reared up, horse and rider were thrown through the air and parted, and Samara flew some distance before crashing to the ground. She hit her head hard on a rock, but no longer felt the pain, as everything went black around her. Her body rolled along in the grass, finally coming to rest underneath some bushes.

***

When he finally awoke, Severus was unsure how long he had been sleeping. Despite the fact that she had just saved his life, he felt rather irate about how Samara had tricked him, and fed him a sleep potion, without any regard for his mission or duty. At least the Strengthening Solution had taken its effect, and he felt like he should be able to get up. First of all he needed to get back to his office to sort himself out. Strengthening Solution was not nearly good enough after what he had been through, he needed something far more powerful. Maybe it was not too late to try to find Harry. And where was Samara? Was she safe? He hoped she would be up in the hospital wing with Poppy, and that she hadn't actually gone out into the forest. Surely such reckless behaviour would hardly befit a Ravenclaw. Yet a nagging worry remained at the back of his mind, torturing him.

He slowly sat up and then, gathering all his strength, started to crawl through the dark and narrow tunnel back to the Whomping Willow. The grounds and corridors of the castle were quiet; everyone seemed to be in the Great Hall looking after the injured. Severus was relieved that he managed to pass through the building unseen. He didn't fancy another encounter with Minerva or Filius. The gargoyle guarding his office was lying toppled over on the floor, giving only a faint grunt when his master climbed over him, and proceeded up the spiralling staircase. The climb up to his office had never seemed so long. His heart was thumping, and when he reached the top, he nearly passed out again from the exertion. Grabbing hold of the doorknob for support, he still felt like he was only a shadow of himself.

The room was dark and quiet when he entered. All the portraits were empty. The Pensieve stood on his desk, the silvery fluid of memories, neither liquid nor gas, swirling within it. So Harry had been here, he had seen everything. Severus felt hot embarrassment flushing up on his cheeks, thinking about how much of himself he had revealed to the boy. He had not known that he would have to live with the fact, and now he wished he hadn't given so much away. Taking out his wand, he gathered up the silvery substance with a swirl and replaced the memories back into his head.

He walked over to the cupboard by the wall and opened the glass door. There stood the bottles of potions that he and Samara had once brewed for Dumbledore, still about half full. He took a goblet, poured himself some of the thick shimmering liquid and downed it. A rush of heat soared through his body as he felt his powers returning, his energy restored. He was ready to join the fight.

Suddenly, he heard the familiar voice of Dumbledore address him from the portrait behind his desk.

"Severus, I am glad to see you are alive and well!"

He turned around to face fim. No doubt Dumbledore had been watching the action from someone else's frame, and he might have seen Harry wander through the castle.

"Albus, have you seen Harry?" he inquired. "We have a problem."

"As a matter of fact I have." Dumbledore beamed. "And all is going wonderfully to plan, as far as I can tell. I see you managed to deliver the message."

Dumbledore's painted hand tried to point at the Pensieve in front of him, but he couldn't reach out from the two-dimensional world of his canvas.

"No, not in its entirety. Since you didn't trust me with the full story, I had no memory of it," Severus replied reproachfully. "I need to find him before it is too late. You wouldn't know where he might be?"

"It's not that I didn't trust you Severus, but rather that Harry didn't need to be told. He is much more like his mother than you give him credit for. He is alive, and Tom Riddle is a mortal man again." The look on Dumbledore's face was one of deep satisfaction.

Severus' eyes widened slightly with surprise, before returning to his usual austere expression.

"Then I will go and kill him." His voice was cold and determined now, while his grip tightened around the ebony wand. "Seeing as the Dark Lord failed to dispatch me, I should still be the true master of the Elder Wand, am I right?"

"You never were its master, Severus. Draco beat you to it that night on the Astronomy Tower, which means your job here is finished."

"Draco?" Severus spat incredulously, his eyes narrowing. "Does that mean then, that your grand plan was flawed?" he sneered, a trace of triumph in his voice.

"I admit I had intended to pass the power of the wand to you. But it does not matter, it will still work out." Dumbledore smiled smugly. "You are not fighting alone, Severus. For once, have faith."

"So you no longer require my services as a murderer then? This time you will allow an innocent soul to be damaged?" he asked wryly.

"Oh, I daresay this time there should not be so much damage," Dumbledore hinted with a secretive smile, still not revealing just what he thought would happen.

"Do you realise that your wonderful plan nearly got me killed for no good reason?" Severus growled. He tilted his head, showing him the nasty scars on his neck. Dumbledore flinched.

"I'm so sorry, Severus. That, I could not foresee."

"Had I not had a guardian angel, I would have joined you up there. And I can assure you I would have made you feel even sorrier."

"Miss Ravenhood," Dumbledore nodded. His eyes seemed to twinkle, although that was hardly possible for a piece of canvas. "I knew you two would get along if only your paths were made to cross."

Severus raised one eyebrow. "I see. The only reason you asked for her help was so you could indulge in a bit of match-making."

"Forgive an old man his meddling, Severus. However, it was more a case of killing two birds with one stone. And I was right. After all those years you have finally found love. That is all that matters now."

Indeed, it was all that mattered. Lily had been his reason to die, but there was nothing more he could do for her son. Samara on the other hand was his reason to live, and that meant so much more. Whatever twisted conclusion to his scheme the old man had in mind, Severus found he no longer cared. He no longer owed him anything. He had never expected to survive beyond his function in Dumbledore's plot, it still seemed a small miracle that he had, but he was determined to make the most of it. Even though he still struggled to comprehend what Samara saw in him, and how he could possibly deserve her, he knew one thing for sure: There was nothing he wanted more than to love her and make her happy. First of all though, he had to make sure she was safe, and then that tormenting disquiet crept back into the focus of his mind.

He opened one of the windows to peer outside. Down in the grounds, the battle was raging again, and people were streaming into the castle. He climbed onto the window sill and jumped. His cloak carried him as he sailed down like a giant bat, landing softly on the grass. He took a look around. The Death Eaters were being driven back by the onslaught of a herd of centaurs, fleeing into the castle. Through the windows of the Great Hall, he could see the multi-coloured flashes of curses being fired into the air. This must be were the fight was taking place.

Suddenly, he spotted Hagrid amongst the mayhem. The gamekeeper and his half-brother were locked in battle with one of Voldemort's giants. Grawp was pummelling the other giant with his fists, but his opponent was larger and stronger. Meanwhile Hagrid was firing curses at him from the tip of his umbrella, but they were just bouncing off the giant's thick skin.

Severus knew what to do. The only way to take out a giant was to fire at the eyes. He drew his wand, took careful aim, and sent a stunning spell towards the giants' face. The giant stumbled and swayed for a moment, before crashing to the ground with a thud that made the earth shake. Hagrid turned around, and looked at him with surprise, while Grawp was cheering and clapping enthusiatically.

"Have you seen Miss Ravenhood?" Severus yelled, as he moved towards Hagrid.

The gamekeeper's eyes and face appeared red and swollen from crying, and were now again filling with tears.

"Headmaster, the're gone," he sobbed. "The girl an the horse, finished by them Death Eaters."

Severus could feel the colour drain from his face, as cold fear ran over his body, and his heart seemed to stop. It couldn't be true - Had he sent her to her death? He grabbed hold of Hagrid's arm.

"Where? How?" he shouted, his face almost demented.

Hagrid, however, was now sobbing uncontrollably, unable to give a coherent answer. Severus let him go. Terrified to the point of madness, he ran down towards Hagrid's stone hut as fast as his legs would carry him. Dumbledore's words echoed in his ears "_That is all that matters now_."

* * *

When Samara came round, she groaned in agony. Her head was throbbing with pain, and when she raised her hand and ran it over her skull she could feel sticky blood in her hair. She slowly sat up. Feeling around for her wand, she found it lying next to her on the forest floor. She pointed it at her head to mend the cut, and the pain subsided. Putting the wand back into her pocket, she got up, and brushed the leaves off her robes. Slowly her memory of the night's events returned: Severus, Hagrid, the fight with the Death Eaters. Where was Hagrid, where was Godric? Hours must have passed since then, as it was already dawning. She shivered, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself. It was freezing cold in the forest. Stepping away from the line of trees, she took a look around. Hagrid's hut was visible as a black shadow against the break of dawn, the windows were dark and the door stood open. Hagrid was not home. There was a body lying in the grass - An unconscious Death Eater but not Hagrid, she noted with relief. Then a short distance away she saw a large dark form on the ground. She moved closer, and when she recognised what it was, her heart stopped for a moment. The iron grip of pain and horror around her chest hardly allowed her to breathe. It was Godric; he was dead.

Her knees buckled, and she sank to the ground next to him. His large black eyes looked at her emptily, as he lay there stretched out on the grass. She was overwhelmed by an enormous sense of loss, numbing out all other thought. Hot tears dripped from her eyes, and fell onto his neck like diamonds onto black velvet. Godric - her brave friend, he had sacrificed himself to save her life.

She was so lost in pain and sadness, that she didn't notice how the air around her turned colder and colder, how the dew on the grass turned to rime, and how her breath started to fog up in front of her face. Suddenly, she felt cold fingers dig into her shoulder. Looking up, she found herself surrounded by three hooded, faceless creatures. Despair and hopelessness clenched around her heart like icy fingers. Dementors. She was in mortal danger. She took out her wand, and pointed it into the air.

"Expecto Patronum!"

But only a feeble glow flashed up from the tip of her wand and died away. She tried again, desperate, but to no avail. The sadness in her heart was too heavy, snuffing out the happy thoughts needed to produce a Patronus. Meanwhile, the Dementors were moving closer. She could hear their rasping breaths, felt the paralysing terror and cold.

"Expecto Patronum!" she cried again, yet nothing happened.

Now another Dementor had reached her and bent over her. His face under his hood was grey, and without eyes or features, with only a gaping black hole of a mouth. She was so cold her blood was surely going to freeze in her veins. It was over. Samara closed her eyes. Her last thought before they took her soul would be of Severus.

"No!" a voice suddenly cried in the distance.

The Dementor let go of her, and started to move back. When Samara opened her eyes and looked up, she saw a silvery white horse galloping towards her, its curly mane billowing. Made entirely of soft glowing light, it was the image of Godric. Where had it come from? It looked almost exactly like her Patronus, but she hadn't been able to produce one. Or was it Godric's ghost that had come back to save her? The silvery horse reared up, striking out against the Dementors, driving them back towards the forest. Samara felt the temperature rise, and, a moment later, an arm protectively wrapped around her shoulders. She recognised the gentle hand that stroked over her hair, and the deep timbre of Severus' voice speaking her name.

"Samara!"

She looked up into the dark eyes that surveyed her with trepidation and concern. And then she understood that the silvery horse had been Severus' Patronus. Her heart was overflowing with joy, as she realised what that meant.

"Samara, say something, please!"

"Sev-ve-rus" she stammered, her teeth chattering.

"I was not too late!" He breathed a sigh of relief, as he lifted her up, and hugged her tight, burying his nose in her hair. "I will never let you go now."

At that moment, the sun rose over the castle, dipping his hair into a warm golden light that shimmered around him like a halo. He slung her arm around his shoulders, lifted her up, and carried her towards the edge of the forest, from where he Disapparated to Ravencroft with her.

Samara was still shivering, and shaking in his arms when they finally reached the house. Twinkle opened the door, and Melissa came running into the entrance hall behind her. They had been up all night, sick with worry when Samara had not returned from work.

Melissa's jaw dropped, as she gaped at the sight of Samara in the arms of her Potions professor, Death Eater, and convictable murderer. He shot her a forbidding look, daring her to speak, and noted with satisfaction that he could still silence a student with a mere glance, even years after she had last sat in his classroom. Without a word, Severus walked past her to put Samara down on the sofa in front of the fireplace. The warm glow of the cheerful flames felt soothing and comforting. Samara sighed, she was home.

Trixie brought her a mug of steaming hot liquid, and the three sat gathered around her, watching her drink with careful sips, as she related the events of the night. When she came to what had happened to Godric, she swallowed hard, but couldn't prevent fresh tears from rolling down her cheeks. Severus reached out, taking hold of her hand for consolation. The sadness in the room was almost palpable, as none of them seemed able to speak. Then Samara suddenly realised with a pang of guilt just how worried Poppy must be, after she so suddenly disappeared.

"Trixie, Poppy doesn't know what happened. Could you go and tell her I'm fine? Maybe you can stay a while and help her. I feel a little guilty about abandoning her there."

The little elf nodded eagerly, but just before she could Dispapparate, Melissa caught her hand.

"Wait, Trixie, I want to go and help, too. You don't mind, Samara, do you?"

"No, go, I might join you later once I feel better. And Trixie, please bring Godric's body back, won't you?"

Melissa fetched her wand and her cloak, but before she could leave, Severus stopped her with an intimidating scowl.

"I expect you to be discrete about what you saw, Miss Braidings," he warned her.

"Yes, Sir," Melissa nodded.

Then Trixie Apparated them to Hogwarts, and Samara and Severus were finally left alone.

"Voldemort is gone." he said after a moment of silence, pulling up his sleeve to show her his forearm.

Where the dark mark had been, there was now only blistered, inflamed skin, like a terrible burn.

"You are free then…" Samara said softly.

"Yes, free," he replied, as his eyes looked at her with pure wonder.

Samara stroked her hand across his arm, and under her caressing touch his skin healed, leaving only a faint white scar.

"How does it feel?" she asked.

"Wonderful."

The sound of his deep voice once more made her stomach flutter with butterflies. And then he pulled her towards him, down onto the thick fluffy rug in front of the fire, and kissed her.

"I love you, Severus," she breathed against his lips.

"Hmm," was all she got back as he deepened their kiss.

But he didn't need to say the words, for she already knew.


	18. A Brighter Future

The afternoon sun shone through the large west-facing windows, when Samara woke up. She blinked, and turned around in bed. How long had she been sleeping? Severus was still lying next to her, his breathing slow and regular. So it had not just been a happy dream, it had all been real.

His features were relaxed and peaceful in his sleep, the frown lines on his forehead smoothed, making him appear a lot younger. She propped herself up on her elbow and watched him, unable to take her eyes off his beloved face, the crooked line of his nose, the dense black lashes, and the pale cheeks, which seemed to have hollowed even more over the last months. Her eyes fell onto the bulging fresh scars disfiguring his neck, and it made her shudder to think how close she had come to losing him forever. She made a mental note to put some Dittany on them later. Of greater concern, however, were those scars that remained invisible. She could only hope that time and her love would be able to heal them, too.

A jet black strand of hair had fallen into his face, so she reached out to gently brush it aside. He gave a faint grunt, before his eyes fluttered open. In the direct sunlight, Samara could see that they were actually not black, but a very dark shade of brown.

"What time is it?" he asked, raising up on his elbow, like Samara, and blinking at the sun.

"Half past three."

"Time to get up, I'd say," he muttered, pushing the covers back and climbing out of bed. "I'll take a shower, if you don't mind."

"Can I join you?" Samara asked a little bashful, but at the same time unable to pull her eyes away from his perfectly shaped naked body.

"Certainly," he replied with an impish smile, as he made his way to the bathroom.

Samara followed, and slipped into the shower after him. Letting the warm water run over her face, she pressed herself against him, kissing the never-ending supply of water droplets off his chest. His body felt so foreign, and yet so familiar, it filled her with wonder. His hands skilfully massaged her back, gently kneading the cords of muscles, some of which were still seized up and sore from her fall and the hours of lying on the cold, hard ground by the forest. She sighed, it felt good.

They lathered each other up, and washed each other's hair. She relished in the sensation of his fingers massaging her scalp, his hands caressing her soapy body. Once the foam was rinsed off, she slid down, placing her hands on his narrow hips, and took him into her mouth. Severus drew in a sharp breath and moaned. She could feel him harden and grow, as she slid her lips along his shaft, inhaling his musky scent. His eyes were closed, and his head dropped back with entrancement, when she caressed his sensitive tip with her tongue. After a while, he gently pushed her away her, pulled her up to him, and kissed her with a passion and fervour that turned her insides to mush. She spread her legs for him as he tried to enter her, but their difference in height and the constricted space of the shower made it difficult to find the right position.

"Let's save it for later," he said softly, as he straightened himself.

At that moment Samara's stomach made a rumbling noise.

"Besides, there seem to be more pressing issues to attend to," he smirked.

"Does that mean you are going to spend the night with me again?" she asked hopefully.

"Tonight, and as many more as you want me to," he affirmed.

"I don't want you to ever leave."

"That..." he said with an amused expression, "is not very practical. Since I don't even have a change of clothes here, I shall have to pay Hogwarts another brief visit."

They got out of the shower. Severus performed a drying charm on them, and then they got dressed. Down in the kitchen, Samara reheated the left-overs of last night's dinner, the meal she had missed. They were sitting at the table, eating in silence, when suddenly, with a pop, Melissa and Trixie Apparated in the entrance hall. Samara waved at them to come and join them.

"Voldemort is dead, Harry killed him, but so many people lost their lives," Melissa said plaintively as she sat down.

Samara nodded. "Have you two eaten?"

"Yes, there was a feast."

Melissa's eyes darted back and forth between Samara and Severus, who stared her down with his best classroom scowl. She seemed a little disconcerted by the apparent familiarity between Samara and her former professor, and what it implied.

"Professor," Melissa finally found the courage to address him, "I'm so sorry, I thought you... well... Harry was telling everybody how you were always on Dumbledore's side, even after you killed - And how you protected -"

"Spare me the account of my life from Potter's mouth, Miss Braidings!" he snarled, his eyes shooting daggers at her.

"Yes, Sir." She lowered her eyes sheepishly, but after a moment's hesitation she couldn't stop herself from blurting out. "I just think you should know – they all think you're dead, and well... You didn't allow me to say anything. But... I was sitting next to McGonagall, and she cried! And... I think you should tell them...."

"Miss Braidings, mind your own business," he cut across her, and Melissa fell silent, avoiding his eyes.

Samara wondered if she was the only one to detect a slight conciliatory note in his voice, despite the apparent harshness in his words, as if deep down he was touched by the thought of McGonagall shedding tears over his death.

"I... I should go home. I'll go pack my things," Melissa sighed, getting up from her chair.

"There is no hurry, you're welcome to stay," Samara said.

"I know. But I haven't seen my friends and family in months."

Samara nodded, she was disappointed that she would no longer have Melissa for company, but she did understand. "I'll see you at work on Monday."

Melissa's face lit up when she heard those words.

"Bright and early!" Samara added with a wink.

"Yes, Miss Ravenhood!"

"It's still Samara... You can start by writing up the article for the Potioneer."

"I will do my best," the young witch beamed, before she turned to climb up the stairs to her room with a new spring in her step.

As Trixie cleared away the empty plates, and started to clatter about in the kitchen, Samara took hold of Severus' hand across the table, looking at him sternly.

"You really should go and tell Minerva."

"I suppose I should," he grumbled wearily.

Suddenly, there was a scratch at the window, and when Samara turned, she saw her owl sitting on the window sill outside. She got up to let him in. He deposited a thick wad of paper on the dining table, and then fluttered off toward the kitchen, where Trixie would give him some treats. Samara took a look at her mail.

"Oh, look, an Evening Prophet, special edition..." she told Severus, as she picked up the paper, and started to flick through it.

She rarely bothered reading the Prophet, but this time she was anxious to find out what had happened, and who was amongst the dead. Harry Potter smiled tiredly at her from almost every page. She paused when she got to the list of names of those who had fallen in the battle, her heart thumping apprehensively as she scanned down. She didn't recognise most of the names. There was a Weasley amongst the dead, but fortunately none of the Hogwarts professors. Then her face pulled into an annoyed frown.

"They have you down on the list of dead Death Eaters!"

"Well, I suppose I was a Death Eater," Severus drawled indifferently.

"No, you were not! You risked your life to fight against Voldemort!" she exclaimed with indignation.

Samara turned over the page, exhaling in outrage, when she read the next headline. "_Severus Snape – Saint or Scoundrel? by Rita Skeeter_"

She hastily read the article, her eyes flickering across the page. Severus watched her with detached curiosity, as she paled, and her eyes filled with tears of anger.

"_Severus Snape, most fervent follower of You-Know-Who, and late headmaster of Hogwarts, was reportedly killed by his own master, while his colleagues valiantly battled against the onslaught of Death Eaters. The Golden Trio witnessed the act, hidden in the Shrieking Shack, when You-Know-Who set his snake on his most loyal servant, and watched the man bleeding to death._

_One can only wonder at the damage that the sight of such horrors inflicts on the mind of a child. And so it is maybe not surprising that poor Harry, who was always somewhat unstable, was a little confused by the events, trying to convince his friends and teachers that Snape had been trying to protect him all along! Contrary to what Harry is trying to make us believe however, Snape was possibly even more vicious than You-Know-Who himself. Under his leadership of terror, Death Eaters were allowed to teach at Hogwarts, students were tortured and maimed, encouraged to embrace the Dark Arts, and dissident members of staff, such as poor Charity Burbage, were brutally murdered. _

_Snape himself relished a bit of murder, as became evident when he killed a defenceless and frail Dumbledore on the top of Hogwarts Astronomy tower in the spring of last year. Again, poor Harry had to witness it all, and barely got away with his life. This murder was possibly the most despicable crime in history, considering that not only was the victim an unarmed old man, but also the same person that had always stood behind Snape, whose testimony had kept Snape out of Azkaban all those years, and who gave him a job when nobody else would have touched him with a bargepole. _

_Oh, yes, there was a time when Snape led the life of a respected Hogwarts teacher, though his students will attest that he always had a sadistic streak. And until he committed this most revolting act of treason, usurping the position of his former mentor and benefactor, few wizards and witches would have believed him capable of such atrocity. This writer, however, was never fooled by Severus Snape. I had the dubious pleasure of meeting him at the Triwizard Tournament in 1994, and I have always known an evil person when I've seen one. So I can't but think that Snape got away too lightly. Personally, I would have liked to see him face justice, and a much more severe punishment."_

"What is it?" he asked with mild interest.

"Read that!" she spat bitterly, pushing the newspaper over to him.

His face was completely impassive, as he read, while Samara watched him attentively. When he finally looked up and spoke, his voice was perfectly stoical.

"So?"

"What do you mean – so? It's horrible!" she shrieked, jumping up from her chair, pacing about restlessly.

"It's Rita Skeeter, what did you expect?" he replied, completely unconcerned.

"But many people will believe this crap! And then if they put you on trial, if you're sentenced -," she choked, as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"What did you think would happen? I did kill Dumbledore, and even if I could prove that it was on his wishes, it would still be a crime. Did you hope I would just be absolved of all charges, because the Boy-Who-Lived suddenly believes me a saint? Surely, you're not that naive?"

"I won't let them take you," she sobbed, "I won't watch as they send you to Azkaban!"

He got up, and wrapped his arms around her.

"Shhh... I have no intention of going to Azkaban. Everybody believes me dead, remember? I will just have to retreat from the public eye for a while."

"It's not fair," she sniffed, wiping away the tears.

"Nothing is ever fair," he said calmly.

They were interrupted by Melissa, who was levitating her trunk down the stairs. The young witch blushed, embarrassed to have intruded on a private moment. Samara hugged her good-bye, and then Trixie Apparated Melissa and her belongings back to her flat in London.

***

Severus Snape was greeted by a shriek, as stepped out of the fireplace of Hogwarts' headmaster's office in a burst of green flames.

"Merlin, Severus!" a shrill voice shouted, and as he straightened, he saw Minerva McGonagall jumping up from what until yesterday had been his chair, her eyes wide with terror, as if she was looking at a Norwegian Horntail that had just burst into the room.

"Calm yourself, Minerva, I'm just coming to pick up some things. Accept my resignation, and consider me gone," he said in a casual tone, flicking ashes off his long black robes.

"You're alive!" Minerva exclaimed. Her face looked as if she had just been hit by a stunning spell.

"Obviously," he remarked wryly, lifting one eye-brow.

He swept past her towards the door leading up to his chambers. As he magically transferred his belongings into a large trunk, he was overcome by a strange feeling that he could not put into words. Hogwarts had been his home for almost all his life, but now he was leaving for good. Brushing those thoughts aside, he called a house elf, and ordered his things to be moved to Ravencroft.

When he returned, and opened the door to the office, a roar erupted in the room, stopping him dead in his tracks. He stared into the faces of his colleagues, who hurried towards him, and, ignoring his protests, ushered him into their middle.

There was a teary-eyed Sprout, a beaming Slughorn, a sheepish but delighted Flitwick, Hagrid, who gave him a bear-hug that could easily have achieved what Nagini had not, an overjoyed Poppy, and Minerva, whose face was glowing with... could it be pride? And all around them, the headmasters and headmistresses of times long past were cheering. Albus sat in their middle on his painted chair, smiling with deep satisfaction, his eyes twinkling with joy. And then green flames flared up in the fireplace once more, as Kingsley stepped out, and patted him on the back. And Severus was momentarily so stunned by it all that he forgot to scowl.

"I will floo Molly and Arthur at the Burrow!" Minerva exclaimed excitedly.

"No!" Severus shouted, finally regaining his presence of mind. He didn't fancy having to explain to Molly Weasley just why he had hexed her son's ear off, nor did he want to be fed extra helpings of cauldron cake. He really just wanted to be left alone and go back to Samara. But he had to listen to their apologies, their words of thanks, and through all this, he couldn't help but wonder why they suddenly cared so much about his fate.

***

Samara felt the last warm rays of evening sun on her back as she walked down to the orchards. Rowena stood at the far end of the field, her head held high, her eyes fixed on the horizon. She let out a neigh whose shrill sound cut through Samara's heart with painful sorrow. When the mare took sight of her, she came trotting towards her, looking at her with her ears pricked up high. Samara stroked her head, feeling her velvety nose, and the warm breath blowing from her flared nostrils.

"He's not coming back, but you already know that, don't you?" she whispered hoarsely.

The mare looked at her with big sad eyes and snorted softly. Samara's heart felt heavy, thinking that, just as she herself had found her soul mate, Rowena had lost her companion forever. She gave the mare a pat, and made her way back towards the house. When she reached the fresh mound of soil, where Trixie had helped her bury Godric earlier that evening, by the old yew tree where the garden blended into the orchards, she remained there for a little while, her eyes resting on the colourful pansies around a slab of black granite with the words "_Here rests Godric the Brave_".

'Where was Severus?' He had promised to be back for dinner. Just as she thought this, she heard foot steps creaking on the gravel behind her. Turning her head, she saw him approaching. He had shaved, and was wearing a fresh white shirt. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her wordlessly, sharing the burden of her grief. She leaned back against his chest, enwrapped in his warmth and his love, feeling his breath against her neck as he murmured, "Let's walk."

He took her hand, and they strolled down towards the orchards. She relished the feel of his long slender fingers wrapped around her hand, his dry, calloused palm against hers, the pale skin stretching over his knuckles and prominent veins. They sat down under the same gnarled old apple tree where, more than a year ago, they had shared their first kiss. The evening breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the salty scent of the ocean from afar, mingling it with that of fresh grass and wildflowers.

"Kingsley agrees it is better for me to go into hiding, rather than risk a trial," his deep voice broke into the silence.

"But he's Minister of Magic now! Surely if he believes you..."

"It's not down to him; he has no influence over the verdict of the Wizengamot. And nobody can predict which way that would go, especially not after Skeeter's article. Innocent people have been sent to Azkaban before."

"But how would you hide?"

"It won't be so bad. I have always preferred a private life. I'll change my name..."

"As long as you don't dye your hair..."

"No." He grinned.

"Severus Ravenhood..." Samara thought out loud.

He looked at her quizzically, considering the implication of what she had said. Then his face clouded over.

"I have nothing to offer you, Samara," he said with an undertone of bitter sadness, "I am no more than a criminal on the run."

"You are all I ever wanted, and the only man I would consider, should you ever decide to ask me." She said this with a certitude that left no room for doubt that she meant it.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, as they sat together peacefully, listening to the chirr of the crickets, and watching the last display of colour fade over the black silhouette of the forest, as dusk slowly turned to darkness.

"How would you want to be asked, since you already have the ring?" he suddenly inquired, a note of genuine curiosity in his voice.

"Just kiss me," she said after a moment's consideration.

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes, when he pulled her into his arms, and pressed his lips against hers in a passionate kiss. Samara let out a muffled moan, when his tongue entered her mouth, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. She ran her hands through his hair, letting the silky strands slip through her fingers, feeling the lean muscles at the nape of his neck. Without breaking their kiss, he flipped her on her back into the grass, and settled between her legs, bracing himself on his elbows. His weight on top of her felt just perfect, and made a delicious ache spread from her groin.

When their mouths finally parted, he held her in his gaze, his black eyes making love to her with their penetrating intensity.

"Yes," she breathed, before he kissed her again.

***

The wedding of Severus Snape and Samara Ravenhood took place at Hogwarts over the summer holidays. It was a small and private affair. The students had all returned home, and the only guests were their closest colleagues and friends.

The Great Hall had been decorated with colourful ribbons and umbrella-sized flowers from Professor Sprout's greenhouses, while the enchanted ceiling mirrored a deep blue sky with tufts of perfectly white clouds.

Professor Flitwick performed the ceremony, as the bride and groom made their vows. And after the kiss, he bound all those present with a Fidelius charm, making Samara the secret keeper of her husband's continued existence.

Hagrid let out a noisy sniff, when Samara and Severus lifted their wands, and two magnificent silvery white horses erupted from their tips, galloping along in perfect unison before erupting into a shower of confetti. And Professor Slughorn, all watery-eyed and choked up, proposed a toast to the couple's future. Poppy's eyes were puffed up from crying. She had got really emotional, giving her god-daughter away to the man, of whom she now whole heartedly approved.

The house elves had cooked up a perfect feast in honour of their former headmaster, and the small group of guests sat at the staff table eating merrily, while engaged in animated conversation. Melissa had been assigned the job of stopping Trixie from jumping up to help in the kitchen, and making sure she did nothing but enjoy herself.

The house tables had been cleared away to create a large area for dancing. And when the Hogwarts waltz resounded once more, the bride and groom floated along, under the benevolent eyes of those rejoicing in their happiness, into a brighter future.

***

The best wedding present however did not arrive until several months later, when Rowena gave birth to a gorgeous little colt foal. They named him Godric.


	19. Epilogue: Nineteen Years Later

**A/N: **This chapter is dedicated to semperadreamer. Thank you for translating this story and making it accessible to the Italian fandom!

Also very special thanks to Mark Darcy / Trickie Woo beta reading the entire story and correcting my mistakes.

* * *

Samara Ravenhood inhaled the scent of books and sighed. The manor house, usually filled with the sound of children's laughter, was now quiet except for the occasional clatter from the kitchen, where Trixie was preparing dinner. Here in the library, her sanctuary, padded with book shelves, the silence was onerous. She was alone. Her husband had gone into the forest to look for mushrooms, while Samara had travelled to London with the kids earlier that afternoon, to send them off to school on the Hogwarts Express. Now she was back at home to find he had not yet returned, and she missed his company,

Outside, a beautiful September day, golden and sweet like a ripe apple, was drawing to an end, as the last rays of sun disappeared over the edge of the forest. It was not the type of day to abandon oneself to melancholy. And yet, her heart was filled with longing for the past, mourning of lost youth, and a feeling that it was all slipping away too quickly.

If only she had a timeturner... But the only way she had to hold on to those fleeting moments of happiness was through photographs. And so she walked over to the heavy oak desk in the centre of the room, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a thick leather-bound album. Sitting on the edge of the desk, she put it down in front of her. Her hand stroked lovingly over the soft tan leather, imprinted with a raven and a snake, before opening it at the first page. It had been Granny Poppy's wedding present, and what a thoughtful one - a treasure trove for collecting the memories of a happy marriage.

The first photos were of their wedding - nineteen years ago, how time flew...

A much younger Samara and Severus stood by the fountain in Hogwarts' courtyard, smiling at each other, his arm around her waist, her hand resting on his shoulder, leaning in for a tender kiss.

Samara smiled, thinking how pretty she had looked that day, so young, so radiant. Now her hair was turning grey at the temples, crow's feet had appeared around her eyes, and her breasts were giving in to gravity.

On the next page there was Rowena with baby Godric, with his fluffy coat and tiny short tail, jumping about gawkily on his long spindly legs.

Then followed several pages of pictures from their years of travelling the world – from Egypt, Kenya, India, Australia and Peru.

Finally, a picture of Samara in a bed at St. Mungo's, holding a newborn baby, her face sweaty and tired, but smiling at the little bundle in her arms.

And Severus, cradling baby Helena gently to sleep, the expression on his face one of pure wonder.

Her heart filled with love as she looked through more baby pictures:

Helena, now walking, holding her teddy bear.

Helena 'helping' Samara and Trixie make cauldron cakes.

Helena, unwrapping presents under a mighty Christmas tree.

Three-year old Helena with her play-cauldron, and a piece of wood for a wand, picking flowers in the garden to make a 'potion'.

Severus and Helena, building a snow man under the old apple tree.

And then Samara at Melissa's wedding, with little Helena dressed up as a flower girl.

She turned the page, and there she was again, holding another newborn, a boy this time, the first picture of baby Frederic. How tiny he had been!

Samara got a little teary-eyed as she looked at the other photos:

Freddie in his cot, screaming his head off.

The Ravenhood family, gathered on the sofa beside the Christmas tree, Samara holding little Freddie, and Severus with Helena on his lap.

Helena giving her little brother a cuddle.

Then another Christmas: A beaming Helena sitting beside a stack of books, the complete works of Beatrix Potter, while Freddie was just unwrapping his new play-broom.

Six-year old Helena proudly reading her brother the story of Peter Rabbit.

Samara smiled. From a very early age, Helena had shown a love of books and reading. She was so much like her father. And who was better apt to satisfy her thirst for knowledge, and foster her love of learning, than Severus. She was his pride and joy, and he doted on her. Freddie, on the other hand, preferred running around in the forest to the quiet of the library, and was often at odds with his father.

The next picture was of Freddie building a sand castle on the beach. He had been trying to make it look just like the drawing on the inside cover of _"Hogwarts – A History"._ Severus had been dismayed, when he realised that this was the only reason the boy kept asking for the book, and that he never actually read a single page of it. And Freddie had been pouting because his father failed to see the merit in building the best ever Hogwarts sand castle, turrets decorated with sea shells and all.

Samara turned over another page.

Helena and Severus in the library, Helena tugging at her dad's sleeve, pointing at a book on one of the top shelves.

Samara in a blue summer dress, with Helena and Freddie outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour in Diagon Alley, Freddie clutching a free catalogue he had picked up from Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Then there was a picture of Freddie and Godric galloping around the orchard. Godric had grown up to be a magnificent stallion. The picture must have been taken only weeks before he suddenly disappeared.

Severus with ten-year old Helena, brewing a swelling potion to make giant Jack-o-Lanterns for Halloween.

Helena in her new school robes, her proud father teaching her to perform _Wingardium Leviosa_ with her new wand.

The last photo was of Severus taking a beaming six-year old Freddie for a ride on his broom, his arm wrapped securely around the boy's waist.

For some reason, as the children had become older, they had less often remembered to take pictures, something Samara regretted now; it was an opportunity that would never come back. Funny also, how only the happy moments of one's life made it into the family album. And so there was no photo to remind her of the anguished time when she had spent day and night beside Freddie's bed at St. Mungo's, after he had taken his father's broom without permission, and flown it into the West Tower. It had happened while Samara was at work, and the moment that Severus had burst into her office, the unconscious boy in his arms, had been the worst of her life. He had sustained a fractured skull, and severe internal bleeding, and her stomach still twisted into a knot when she remembered the desperate hours fighting for her son's life.

And then there were some loose photos just slipped in between the pages, still waiting to be stuck in.

The first one, taken about a year ago, showed a group of black horses: Rowena, now with silver streaks in her mane, Godric, who had suddenly returned one day, his girl-friend in tow, as if he had never left, and Nocturna with her newborn filly foal.

The second and third ones had been taken only a couple of weeks earlier:

One was of Helena, and showed a serious-looking young woman, wearing a Ravenclaw jumper, and her Prefect's badge that she had received over the summer. Her long black hair fell down to her waist, framing a thin, pale face with an aquiline nose and prominent cheek bones. Her piercing blue eyes, with their inquisitive look, betrayed a keen mind.

The other showed Freddie, sporting his new school robes and wand. His curly brown hair was tousled, and he had a cheeky smile on his face. Only a small scar on his chin reminded of his terrible accident. He looked so much like Samara's younger brother, the uncle after whom he had been named, except that he had inherited Severus' eyes.

Now her little one, too, had flown the nest, and gone to Hogwarts, only to return for the holidays. All those years, her children had been her life, and now that she was relieved of her maternal duties for the first time, it left a gaping void. But as she closed the photo album, a happy thought bubbled up in her heart. Yes, babies grew up, irrevocably. But as the circle of life repeated itself, there would be new babies to cherish and coddle, grandchildren and great-grandchildren to look forward to.

Outside, the sun had gone down, and it was getting darker. Samara pointed her wand at the fireplace. Within an instant, flames were licking merrily at the carefully stacked up logs, filling the room with flickering warm light.

Her eyes fell onto a brand-new book lying on the desk, bound in emerald green linen. _'Defence Against The Dark Arts – Curriculum For Our Modern Times, Volume 7, by S. T. Prince'_ was written in silver letters on the front cover. So Severus' new book had been published in time for the start of the school year. She opened it, and smiled when she read the dedication; it was the same as always:

'_To Samara, my love. And to Lily, gone but never forgotten.' _

Finally, this project of his, which had become a labour of love over the years, was finished, leaving him free to move on to the more advanced topics he always wanted to write about.

Suddenly, Samara noticed an envelope that had been stuck in between the pages. Intrigued, she opened it, and took out the two sheets of parchment it contained. The first one was a note from Severus' editor:

_Dear Mr. Ravenhood,_

_Please find enclosed a courtesy copy of your latest work, fresh off the printing press._

_I have also taken the liberty to forward a letter to you, which has been directed to us for your attention, but rest assured that nothing was revealed regarding your identity._

_Yours Sincerely_

_Ligatus Bloumsburry_

The second sheet was a letter bearing the seal of the Ministry of Magic. Samara's pulse accelerated with excitement as she read:

_Dear Mr. S. T. Prince,_

_I was informed by your editor that you are writing under a pseudonym, and that this is not your real name. So please excuse this form of address, as we had no other way of contacting you._

_I have followed with great pleasure the publication of each volume of 'Defence Against The Dark Arts – Curriculum For Our Modern Times'. The education of young witches and wizards in this subject is obviously of great concern to me. From my own school days, I remember that teaching in DADA was often haphazard and chaotic, and your series of books, for the first time, has created a foundation for consistency and quality in the class room._

_It is lamentable that not more of the leading scholars of our age find merit in the education of the next generation. And so I felt compelled to propose to the Minister of Magic to award you the Order of Merlin, First Class._

_The award ceremony shall be held on the 17__th__ December 2017 at the Ministry of Magic. The Minister and I sincerely hope that you will accept this honour, and look forward to finally meeting you._

_Yours Sincerely_

_Harry Potter_

_Head of Auror Department_

She gasped, when she saw the signature. With a grim look on her face, she slipped the sheets back into the envelope, and put the book back as she had found it. An Order of Merlin! Severus had not mentioned this with a single word. And knowing him all too well, she suspected that he intended to completely ignore the letter, as well as the award. But he had not reckoned with her!

Her husband's reclusiveness, while initially a necessity, had over the years become more and more a matter of choice and habit. More than twenty years had passed since he killed Dumbledore on that lightening-struck tower, and he could no longer be convicted after such a long time. It was all well that he valued his privacy, and wished to avoid the attention of the press, even though it meant that he had to forego things like accompanying his children to King's Cross, where he might be recognised by somebody on the platform. But how much further was he going to take this? Was he willing to miss Helena's graduation, for instance? It was time to put an end to this game of hide and seek, and Samara was going to find a way to convince him.

She became aware of his presence even before she raised her eyes, and saw him, and when she met his gaze, she felt a flutter go through her stomach. Her husband was standing in the doorway, the sleeves of his white shirt partly rolled up, casually leaning against the frame. His black eyes burned into hers across the room. After all these years he could still turn her knees to jelly simply by looking at her.

"Did you find anything?" she asked.

"Enough fly agarics to last for years." The baritone of his voice melted her gloomy thoughts away, and caressed her soul with velvet gloves.

His black hair, shot through with silver, fell onto his shoulders in a silky mass. Her eyes rested on him, watching the play of light and shadows dancing across his face. She noticed how his expression had softened slightly over the years, compared to the stern look of the younger man in the wedding picture. She assumed the reason was that he had smiled more over the past two decades than at any time before in his life.

He walked over to her, and perched on the edge of the desk next to her. She caught the smell of sun-kissed skin, and wind-swept hair, drifting off him and making her breathing grow heavier. His eyes briefly glanced at the photo album still on the desk.

"Reminiscing about the past?" he asked with a trace of mockery carrying in his voice.

"Just getting to terms with the fact that the children are growing up. To think that Helena will already be sitting her O.W.L.S. this year – it seems like yesterday that I put her on the train for the first time... And now Freddie is gone as well."

"You might have him back sooner than you imagine. I wonder when we'll receive Minerva's letter, saying he's been expelled," he sneered.

"Don't say such things, he is a good boy."

"With an unfortunate talent for trouble, breaking rules, and no interests other than Quidditch and brooms."

"You are too hard on him, Severus. He is only eleven."

"Helena was very different at that age."

"Helena is not the norm. Do you have any idea how hard it must be for him, to never live up to your expectations, to never have your approval?"

"My approval needs to be earned, otherwise it would be meaningless. You, on the other hand, are indulging him too much. Let's hope they teach him some discipline at Hogwarts."

"I miss him already," she sighed.

"Well, I dare say there are certain advantages to being on our own again..." He paused, fixing her with a penetrating gaze, while his hand slid to the back of her neck, and into her hair, pulling her closer. "Now we can make love anywhere in the house, like we used to."

The low, velvety sound of his voice reverberated softly in her ear, striking a chord deep inside her. She felt his breath feathering against her neck and shivered.

"We could start here..." he murmured, as he gently tilted her head back, and his mouth found the sweet spot on the underside of her jaw, making her cry out when he grazed it with his teeth. And then his lips locked on to hers in a long sensual kiss.

She didn't need any more convincing. He drew her against his body, and held her close. His chest was like a strong rampart against her worries, his arms around her like a safe fence protecting her from her fears. And the place within, filled with the heat of his body and his masculine scent, was her home. She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, while his mouth breathed hot kisses along the hairline behind her ear, sending thrills of joy down her spine.

She lifted her head, and looked up into his eyes, loosing herself in their welcoming darkness, ensnared by their intense gaze. Yes, it would be a wonderful thing to have more time alone together, more time to spend with this amazing man who was her husband. So much of their life had revolved around the kids, over the past years, and she feared she had neglected him somewhat.

Her hands reached around his neck, playing with a strand of his hair, before trailing down, brushing over the faint scars on his throat, to gently knead the muscles of his shoulders, feeling their toned shape, the depression above his collar bones. Those shoulders had carried so much responsibility over the years, and yet never bent under its weight. His shirt was in her way, so she undid the buttons one by one, and pulled it away, revealing the soft, fragrant skin of his naked torso, hers to ravish with her lips. She allowed her hands to wander lower, tracing the line of black hair along his abdomen, still flat but slightly mollified by the comforts of family life, down to where it met the waistband of his trousers, below which his growing desire was making a tent. She wanted him, badly.

His hands dexterously undid the zipper of her summer dress, and pulled the bodice down to her waist. He lifted her up on the desk before him, positioning himself between her legs. There were no words for how much he loved her, only the language of tender caresses and passionate kisses. His hands stroked up along the length of her thighs, gathering her skirt up to her hips as they did. Then he removed her underwear, and lowered her down on her back. His eyes beheld her, as she lay stretched out before him, naked but for the fabric of her dress crumpled around her waist, illuminated only by the dim glow of the fire.

"You look beautiful," he said, his voice hoarse.

She didn't seem to believe him, knowing only too well what half a century and two pregnancies had done to her body, and a doubtful smile flitted across her face.

"Don't deny it, you do. Nobody sees you like I do," he whispered as he reverently caressed her breasts, letting their softness droop into his palms.

She moaned, and arched up towards his skilful touch, towards his knowing hands that found the right spot without being told. Her body was as familiar to him as his own, and he knew just how to give her pleasure, increasing her craving for him until her eyes were begging him to take her. Only then did he enter her, slowly, inch by inch, until he filled her all the way. He paused to look her in the eyes, allowing them a moment to enjoy the intimate connection they shared, before picking up a slow rhythm.

The crackling of the fire mixed with their moans, and the sound of heavy breathing, as their pleasure built to a crescendo. Before long, their intermingling bodies glistened with sweat, and when their primeval dance reached its completion, they clung to each other exhausted and satisfied.

They picked their clothes off the floor, and got dressed, before strolling into the sitting room, where the delicious smell of roasted meat greeted them.

"Next time on the rug in front of the fireplace," he whispered in her ear, making her smile.

Trixie had already set the table. She had even lit some candles, and now came shuffling in from the kitchen with a bottle of wine. Samara noticed there were only two place settings on the table.

"Are you not eating with us, Trixie?" she asked, a little concerned.

"Trixie has eaten already," the little elf replied with a shy smile, her ears blushing. "Masters are having a romantic evening."

Samara and Severus looked at each other. Had they been that obvious?

"Thank you Trixie, that is really sweet," Samara said while the elf poured the wine. They sat down, and enjoyed their food in silence, exchanging glances across the table.

"Do you think Freddie has been sorted already?" Samara finally asked, pushing her plate away, nervously shifting around in her chair.

"Be patient. I'm sure Minerva will let us know once the feast is over."

She sighed, hardly able to conceal her excitement.

"If you think there will be another Ravenclaw in the family, you are mistaken," he teased her.

"He will definitely be in Ravenclaw," she insisted confidently. "For three centuries, every single member of the Ravenhood family has been sorted into Ravenclaw."

"Yes, but as you said yourself, he is not like Helena."

"Pah, I know you're just hoping he'll be in Slytherin."

"Indeed, and who could blame me. Being surrounded by women who are smarter than I, and keep getting their way, I need someone to back me up."

"I thought getting your way was a Slytherin trait," she retorted.

"Apparently not," he replied, arching one eyebrow. "Besides, Slytherin could really do with a good seeker."

"I thought you were never going to let him near a broom again!" she exclaimed.

"Hm, I may need to reconsider," he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Well, you can forget it, because there is no doubt he will be in Ravenclaw."

"Slytherin."

"Ravenclaw!"

"You're mistaken."

"I'm not!"

"You'll see."

Samara crossed her arms, and pushed her chin out in defiance, while he regarded her impassively, an amused look on his face, sipping his wine as they waited.

Suddenly there was a puff and a crackle in the fireplace, and the outline of Minerva McGonagall's features seemed to appear amongst the embers.

"Severus? Samara? Just wanted to let you know, Frederic has been sorted into Griffindor. Congratulations!"

Samara and Severus looked at each other, stunned, before bursting out into laughter.

T H E E N D

* * *

**A/N:**

The rest is left to the reader's imagination...

Will Severus accept the award and attend the ceremony? And what will be the look on Harry's face?

Will Helena ever teach potions at Hogwarts?

Will Freddie fall in love with Lily Potter?

Tempting... But this really is the end. I will not be writing a sequel!

**Finally - a word to all those "quiet" readers:** So you read to the very end of the story? You must have enjoyed something about it then - I mean, nobody *made* you read all nineteen chapters. There is a button down there that says "Review This Story / Chapter". You can click on it and leave me a quick note. Come on, you have had your fun, now let me have mine! ;-)


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